Redemption
by MKOLO
Summary: Connor and Murphy have been dealing with Rocco's death for months now, but when part of his past comes looking for him, their world is turned upside down.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my 1st ever fanfic. Please read and review! Chapter 2 will arrive shortly.**

Chapter 1

Connor couldn't help laughing as he watched his brother try to chat up some girls who had unwittingly wandered into McGinty's on a rather busy Friday night. They were glancing around clearly out of their element in a bar full of Irish men. The thought struck Connor, with a note of sadness, that it didn't used to be all Irish men. He still couldn't have a drink at McGinty's without remembering Rocco. It was surprising how much one moment could change everything. He still felt an incredible amount of guilt for Rocco's death, and he wasn't alone. He and Murphy had prayed about it and gone to confession. It had seemed to ease Murphy's soul but Connor still couldn't get right with what happened. After the storm of the trial had blown over, he and Murph had tried to find some information on Rocco's family, but the luck of the Irish hadn't been with them on that little quest. Now, nearly six months later, he was still dwelling on it over his Guinness.

--------------------------------------------

Murphy glanced over at his brother and heaved a sigh, knowing exactly what was going on in his twin's head. Murphy had been hoping for a little help with the 3 ladies he was trying to convince not to leave McGinty's without letting him by them a drink, but one look at Conner told him it was hopeless. He made one more half-hearted protest before walking the ladies outside to hail a cab, but not before getting a phone number. Then he turned and walked back into the bar, a man on a mission.

"Pull yer head out of yer pint, Conn! Ye just let 3 very lovely ladies escape out from under our noses!" Murphy said, jovially slapping Conner on the back. Then he added in a lower voice "Yer thinkin' of Rocco, ain't cha?"

"Aye. It's just bein' here makes me think of the last time we were all here together..." he trailed off.

Murphy picked up his thought, as he so often did "…St. Patty's Day. Listen, Conn, we've been over this. In the end, Rocco made his own decisions, and there is nothing we could've done to save him. Rocco went out doing something he believed in, hold on to that thought instead of being a miserable arse." He reached over and grabbed Conner around the neck and ruffled his hair.

Connor managed a smile and his brother, then joked "I can't believe _the_ adorable fuckin' Murphy couldn't manage to get those lassies over here for a drink…Ye must be losin' yer touch."

"Aw, fuck ye! I couldn't fully focus me charms anyway with ye over here cryin' in yer damn pint! It wasn't a total waste, though." He said showing Conner the phone number. Conner laughed, and waved Doc over for another round.

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It was almost closing time, and McGinty's was starting to empty out. Only a few of the hard core regulars had stuck around for last call. Normally, there would have been more guys hanging out, but the thunderstorm that had rolled in a few hours before had drove out all but the serious drinkers.

Doc was wiping down the end of the bar, when the door opened and a small, sopping wet figure walked in the door. "C-Can I help ye?"

The figure drew the hood away to reveal a soaked girl with long, curly brown hair and a beautiful olive skinned face. She said, "I hope so. I'm looking for my brother."

"Almost everyone's gone home, but maybe he was here earlier. What's yer brother's name, lass?" Doc asked the dripping girl.

With all eyes turned toward her, the girl said clearly, "David Della Rocco."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Luciana Della Rocco glanced around the bar in surprise. At the mention of her brother's name, the bar had gone completely still. Finally, the bar tender said, "Come on over, miss. Let's g-get ye a dry towel. Fuck! Ass!" The swearing took her by surprise, but before she could speak a tall, handsome guy with an Irish brogue motioned her over.

"Don't mind him…Tourette's Syndrome. He can't help himself. What's yer name, then?"

"Luciana Della Rocco." She said as she peeled off her coat. She realized she was being closely scrutinized. Trying, to appear braver than she felt, she asked, "And you are?"

"Connor MacMannus, and this is me brother, Murphy. Did ye say ye was looking for Rocco?" Murphy leaned into his shoulder waiting for her answer.

"Yes, he's my brother. I haven't heard from him in months. As soon as, I could get the money together, I came in from Ohio to find him. In his letters, sometimes he would mention this bar. I looked for him at his apartment but there was another name on the door. I wasn't sure where else to go besides here."

"Ye say he sent ye letters…Do ye mind if I see one?"

Looking puzzled, she handed over a letter. It was in a messily scribbled hand, and the signature said _Miss You, Sis…Love, David_. The sharp intake of breath told her they recognized David's handwriting. She felt the penetrating gaze of both brothers like a tangible thing. Before anyone could speak, Doc came back with a towel for her, and looked questioningly at Conner. He and Murphy stood up and gestured towards a booth in the back. He said gently "Ye better come and sit down over here with us."

----

Connor and Murphy exchanged a glance. The girl, Luciana, had been rocking back and forth in the booth with her hands covering her face. Occasionally she would mumble something unintelligible. Murphy slid out of the booth and nodded at Connor. Connor knew Murphy was counting on him to field this one. Murphy was a man of action, comforting sobbing women always seemed to fall to Connor. As Murphy headed over to the bar to confer with Doc, Connor slid into the booth next to her and put his arm over he shoulders.

"Shhh, it'll be alright, lass." Connor rubbed her back and whispered in her ear. After a few minutes her sobs slowed down and she sagged against Connor. "Miss, let's get ye out of this bar and into some dry clothes. Where are ye staying? Me brother and I will take you there and we can talk some more."

"I'm not staying anywhere. I mean, I don't have anywhere to go. I was going to stay with…" Tears welled up in her eyes as she tried to finish her sentence.

"Not to worry, we'll take good care of ye." "Hey, Murph, let's go! We're taking Luciana back to our apartment."

-----

Murphy gave Connor a searching look as they headed for the door. Connor just nodded and shrugged his shoulders. Clearly, this girl was in shock. She was no longer crying but she was also not saying a word. She seemed unaware of Connor leading her towards the door. Murphy grabbed the small backpack that Luciana had set beside the booth and headed after them.

Murphy watched as Connor took off his pea coat and covered Luciana's head with it to keep her out of the rain. As he followed them back to the apartment, he wondered how on earth they had never known about Roc's having a sister. At first, he had been skeptical that she was actually Roc's sister, but after seeing her reaction he had changed his mind. This girl was clearly devastated. But where had she come from? How much did she know about Roc's life and the kind of work he did? There were too many questions for Murphy's liking but clearly they weren't going to get any answers out of this poor girl until she had some time to process what she had just heard. He resigned himself to the fact that there probably wouldn't be much info until the morning.

Pulling out his lighter, he stepped under an eave to light a cigarette. This was turning into an eventful evening.

------

Tramping down the darkened street in the pouring rain, Luciana started to come to her senses. She realized that these two must be the guys her brother had mentioned in his last letter.

_Sis, I'm finally doing something positive with my life. After all these years, I'm doing good work with 2 friends. They are Irish brothers, if you can believe that. Me, hangin' out with 2 micks!_

He never said what type of work they were doing, but the tone of the letter had been so much more upbeat than his previous ones. Not just upbeat, she thought, frenetic. Then the letters had stopped. At first, she assumed that his new "work" was keeping him busy but after 6 months, she realized something must be wrong. He had never gone more than 3 months without sending a letter and the modest check that came with it. Now, here she was, at 2 AM, walking home with two strangers who could hopefully shed some more light on what had happened to her brother.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: THANKS TO GODDESS LAUGHS FOR HELPING ME OUT WITH THIS ONE! HOPEFULLY HER POSITIVE INFLUENCE WILL SHOW! ALSO, I UPDATED CHAPTER 2...SHOULD BE MORE COHESIVE NOW.**

CHAPTER 3

Connor was up before 6 am. After spending the night tossing and turning, he gave up on sleep and decided it was time for some coffee. Murphy was managing to get some sleep and all the noise coming from his side of the room couldn't make it very easy.

While he waited for the coffee, he thought about the previous night. Luciana hadn't said much once they got home, but he hadn't needed her to. She looked as though she had been defeated by the world. He couldn't stand to see anyone in such anguish and he immediately took control of the situation.

After getting her some towels and a t-shirt to sleep in, he ensconced her in the room that had, until recently, been Da's. She accepted his help without much comment, which reinforced what he and Murphy had discussed last night. She must be in shock. When he woke that morning, he listened at her door but there wasn't any noise from inside. He sincerely hoped she was getting some much needed rest. Conner poured himself a cup of coffee and lit a cigarette just as Murphy shuffled into the kitchen.

"Hope I didn't wake ye." Connor said, eyeing his brother carefully. If he looked as worn out as Murph it was definitely going to be a long day.

"Naw, I didn't sleep well either." Murphy mumbled, getting himself a cup of coffee. By the time he sat down, Connor had a cigarette lit for him. Murphy took a long drag and exhaled with a sigh. "So, what are we gonna do with her?"

"Dunno. Depends on what her situation is, I suppose. I don't think she has any money on her. She sort of fell apart when I asked her where we could take her last night. Hopefully today she'll be able to give us a better idea of what's going on and why we never heard of her before yesterday."

"I think I'll be able to do that, if one of you will get me a cup of that coffee" said a voice from the kitchen door. Connor looked up to see Luciana looking like she had slept about as well as they had. Her puffy bloodshot eyes told him all he needed to know about what she had done most of the night. Connor motioned for her to sit down and Murphy got up to get her coffee.

After they were all seated, Connor looked into her eyes and said simply "Tell us."

-------

"Connor, calm down!" Murphy said, laying a hand on his brothers' shoulder. Connor shrugged him off and continued pacing the room.

"Listen, if ye don't settle down, yer gonna wake Luciana. Who knows how long it's been since the poor girl had a good nights rest." Connor knew his brother was right and slumped onto his bed.

In a frustrated voice, he said "I just can't believe all she's been through, and then she gets here only to find out her last hope is dead."

"I know." Murphy said quietly sitting down next to his brother. "I know."

Connor sighed heavily. He knew his brother was as upset about the situation as he was. Murphy, he realized, was holding in all his tension, being strong for me. The thought sobered him. Losing control wouldn't help matters at all. He looked over at his twin and nodded. Both men reached into their shirts and pulled out the rosaries they wore. Kneeling on the cold bare floor, they prayed.

------

Luciana lay on her bed, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling. Mulling over the previous days events, she was shocked at herself. Many of the things she told the MacManus brothers, she had never told anyone. Something about those two put her at ease. Maybe it was the way they spoke of David. Clearly they had cared for him. When Connor had told her of David's death, she had seen a shadow of emotion cross over his face. Whatever the cause of her comfort, it was welcome. She felt freed from some of the huge burden she had been carrying around. Just having it out there eased her pain a bit. Some of the pain she knew she would carry to her grave, but at least there was a way ease the burden.

The look of compassion on Connor's face when he had asked her to tell her story had touched her. Her story came out slowly, tentatively at first. Then it build into a flood of words and emotions that at times threatened to overwhelm her. When it became too much there was a soft word from Murphy or a squeeze of her hand from Connor. They asked few questions as she talked, but the listened carefully to every word.

She told them about David leaving when she was just 6, headed to New York but ending up in Boston. She told how his visits became less and less frequent, and then about the huge fight he had with their mother. The fight that lead to her mother telling him never to come back.

She told them about rushing home from school to check the mail before her mother got home from work. Later, when the alcohol and pills took control, she would rush home to get the mail before her mother woke up. Each trip to the mailbox was filled with the hope that maybe today anther letter would come from her beloved brother.

She told them about the money David had sent; fifty dollars here, twenty-five there. The money she used to buy food and to turn the heat back on in the winter when all of the welfare money had been spent on cheap vodka and percocets.

She told them about meeting Vic when she was just 18. She had just graduated high school and trying to make ends meet working at a small diner, not far from the apartment she still shared with her mother. He had flirted with her when she brought his eggs and he left her a large tip. He came back every morning for a week. She was immediately smitten. He was all she had never had in her life; funny, smart, stable, caring. She didn't realize then that he was also controlling, jealous, unpredictable and violent.

She told them about moving in with Vic after her mother threw a vodka bottle at her in a drunken rage. She had taken the few things she owed and never looked back. Vic had welcomed her with open arms.

She told them how after moving in Vic encouraged her to quit her job. He had plenty of money and would take care of her. Then he started to make disparaging remarks about her few friends, eventually forbidding her to see them at all. At the time, she felt he was so right. Why should she visit with her friends when she hadn't cleaned the house or made his dinner yet? She knew he loved her and he would always take care of her.

She told them about the first time he hit her. She had been in the basement finishing up some ironing and forgotten about the lasagna in the oven. He walked in to a kitchen full of smoke and her crying over the sink, trying to scour out the pan. He had stopped at the bar after work for a few drinks and she could smell the whiskey on his breath when he asked her what he had been thinking. She didn't have any answer he liked or would listen to, and before she knew what had happened she was on the floor watching the blood drip from her broken nose onto her white shirt.

She told them how it had slowly escalated from that incident; black eye, cut lip, cracked rib. No one noticed because she had become isolated from anyone who would have cared. Her only contact was David and she never told him what was going on. She knew her brother. He would have done something crazy, and, in the end, she still loved Vic.

She told them about the joy that had filled her when she had learned she was pregnant. Surely, Vic would be as excited as she was. He had always talked about having a son to follow in his footsteps, Vic, Jr. He didn't lay a hand on her after that, and things were perfect.

She told them about the doctor's appointment. Vic was right there by her side when the doctor told them they would be welcoming a baby girl in a few months. She had felt Vic stiffen beside her. He hadn't said anything on the way home from the doctor. Dropping her off at the house, he drove off leaving her bewildered on the porch.

She told them about waiting for him to come home that night. Paralyzed with fear and indecision, she didn't leave even though her instincts were screaming for her to run. He came home in a drunken fury that, despite the years of abuse, took her by surprise. She had tried to run then but it was too late. He was ranting, accusing her of having an affair. There was no way he had produced a _girl_. The derision in his voice when he said girl made her blood run cold. He said he was going to teach her a lesson, and he did. He beat the baby right out of her.

She told them about scraping together the money a few dollars at a time. Taking a few dollars from Vic's wallet when he came home drunk or keeping the change she found in his pockets when doing laundry. When she had enough saved up, she packed up some clothes, the letters David had sent and the only picture taken of her while she was pregnant and left.

She told them about the greyhound bus ride from Youngstown to Boston and the search for David's apartment. She told them how nervous she had been walking, soaking wet, into an Irish bar called McGinty's.

In the end, she told them everything.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks again to goddesslaughs...the best beta a struggling writer could ask for!**

Chapter Four

Murphy awoke, squinting against the sunlight that was coming through the bedroom window. He glanced over and saw Connor glaring up at the ceiling intently.

"That's the trouble with those things, you have to watch them every minute." Murphy said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Always a fuckin' comedian, ye are, even at eight in the fuckin' morning." Connor said without glancing over.

Murphy propped himself up on his elbow, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "Did ye sleep at all?"

"Not much. Been tryin' to figure out what we're gonna tell Luciana, when she gets around to asking questions. We're stuck between a fuckin' rock and a sinkin' ship, as Doc would say."

Recognizing his brother's half-hearted attempt at humor for what it was, Murphy smiled. "We'll just have to keep her distracted until Da calls. I wanna run all this by him before we tell her anything."

"Great, now you just whip us up a plan to do that, and we're home-free." Connor said wearily. "I'm gonna take a fucking shower."

"Maybe you shouldn't." Murphy said, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips. "She'll probably head for the hills screaming like a fuckin' banshee if she sees how fucking scary you look this morning." He couldn't help but chuckle as Connor flipped him off on his way to the bathroom.

----

As it turned out, the brothers didn't needed a plan to distract Luciana after all. When Connor finally came down stairs, Luciana and Murphy had already worked it out. He was going to take Luciana to the cemetery to see Rocco's grave and Murphy was going to stay in and wait for Da's call.

At first, he had been pissed that he was appointed, by his brother no doubt, to be the one that had to sidestep her questions all day. He didn't want to lie to her, but he certainly couldn't put them all at risk by telling her the truth. He was about to suggest that Murphy go with her instead but when she looked up at him with those sorrowful dark eyes and he couldn't find the words.

They walked in silence toward the cemetery, each lost in their own thoughts. Two blocks away, Connor grabbed her hand and pulled her into a florist's shop that he had come to know well in the months following Rocco's death.

"Why don't ye pick something out for him?" he asked gently, steering her towards the case of arrangements.

"Thanks, I'd like that." She said. But as she looked at the prices of the different bouquets, her face fell.

Noticing her discomfiture, he grabbed the largest bouquet he saw and paid the bill.

"Thank you." She said, in a tremulous voice and Connor deliberately looked away so he wouldn't see the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.

The rest of the walk passed quickly and before he knew it, they were standing in front of Rocco's grave. He picked up the dried flowers, leftover from his last visit and placed the new ones along the headstone.

Reaching over and squeezing her hand, he said, "I'll just give you some time alone with him." She nodded, never taking her eyes from the grave. He left her and made his way to the now familiar chapel on the cemetery grounds.

-----

He was kneeling in second row of the small church, praying, when he heard a slight rustling next to him. He looked over to see Luciana kneeling next to him, her long dark curls hiding her face. After a moment, he heard a small sob escape her and he reached over and pulled her up onto the pew. She leaned against him wept. It wasn't the hysterical crying that had gripped her at McGinty's, but tears of loss and grief that he hoped would ease her soul. He held her close, whispering soft words into her hair until her sobs tapered off and she was resting quietly against him.

After a moment, she raised her head, meeting his eyes. "Was it you?" She said in a small voice, barely above a whisper.

"Was what me?" he asked, puzzled.

"That beautiful headstone…the dried flowers…all of it."

"Murphy and I picked the headstone. And yes, I brought the flowers. I usually come out once a week, to talk to Roc and…" he trailed off, avoiding her gaze.

"And…" She prompted.

"And to pray." He finished quietly.

She leaned forward and kissing him lightly on the cheek. "I'm glad someone is watching over him. I can't tell you what it means to me that he hasn't been alone, or buried in some public cemetery surrounded by strangers.

It's beautiful here. Peaceful. It makes it so much easier for me knowing that David has a resting place where he isn't forgotten."

"Easier to what?"

"To move on. I can't stay here. As much as I'd like to be close to David, things are just too complicated for me right now." She rubbed her fingers over a light scar on her cheek. Connor noticed that she seemed to do it unconsciously whenever she was thinking. Impulsively, he reached over and touched the scar gently.

The haunted look from the previous night returned to her eyes as she said, "Vic."

He opened his mouth to speak but she stood abruptly, pulling away from him. "Let's go grab some lunch, and you can tell me what exactly happened to David" She said, changing the subject.

Fighting the urge to pull her back into his arms, he stood. "Italian or Chinese?"

-----

As they waited for their order to arrive, she asked, "How did you and Murphy meet David, anyway?"

Laughing, he said, "Now that's a fuckin' story. One night, at McGinty's, me brother and I were well into our pints when we heard someone firing up over at the pool table. It was Roc, of course. He had just lost a pool game to the biggest fuckin' guy in the bar. He was pissed at losing his twenty bucks and was letting the guy know about it in typical Roc fashion…loudly and with lots of expletives."

She had laughed at that. "David never did know when to keep his mouth shut. He always seemed to come out worse than the other guy, too."

He grinned at her. "He hadn't changed much then. In all the scrapes we've had at McGinty's, Roc played his part. I still can't go in there without thinkin' of him."

The smile left her eyes as she got around to asking him the question he knew was coming. "Why was David shot? He said he was doing good work with you in his letter. What was he talking about? I know before that he had been small time with the mob up here, right?"

He chose his words carefully before answering her questions, "Aye, Rocco had been a package boy for the Yakavetta family. Murph and I were working against the local mafia, and when Rocco found out, he decided to help us."

"Oh my god, you're not cops are you?" she gasped, eyes widening. "Undercover or something? Oh my god…"

Realizing she was terrified, but not understanding why, he leaned forward and put his had on hers. She jerked away as if stung.

"Luciana, we're not cops." He said, still perplexed by her reaction. "Seriously now, do we look like cops to ye?"

"What was David doing for you then, if he wasn't an informant?" She demanded, still perched on the edge of her seat.

"Listen, I can't go into that here, but I promise you, we're not cops. Wait until we get back to the apartment and I'll explain. Have I given ye any reason not to trust me?"

Before she could answer him, the waitress walked up with their lunch.

"Can we get this to go?" She asked, sending the waitress away, muttering under her breath. Giving him a long hard look, she narrowed her eyes, "Ok, but when we get back I want some answers."

"Not a problem." He replied huffily, sliding out of the booth. "Why'd ye get so upset when ye thought we were cops?"

Her answer stopped him in his tracks.

"Vic is a cop." She said, in a resigned voice. "He's going to be looking for me."

**A/N: props to anyone who picked up the quote from The Big Chill in the opening scene. Can I just say that not giving Murphy a lady friend is killing me. It's only a matter of time, but I'm still coming up with a way to introduce her into the story. **

**Also, please, please, please review! I know there are people reading this story, so tell me what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome!**


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks, as usual, to GoddessLaughs for the awesome betaing and inspiration (and irish slang!). If you haven't read _Play it Again, Sam _yet, you should! Hopefully, MarySue won't rear her ugly head in this story. I know it looks like she is on her way, but have faith!

Also, thanks to Elyse Black for being my other lonely reviewer. Please the rest of you, READ & REVIEW! Pretty Please, with sugar on top!

**CHAPTER 5**

Murphy was a complete bundle of nerves. The toll that the last two months had taken was evident in the way he stalked around the apartment. It felt like all he did anymore was wait; wait on Da to come back, wait for Connor to stop beating himself up over Roc's death. Now here he was again, waiting on Da to call and Connor to come home. He kicked the couch in frustration on his next lap around the living room. He was not cut out for this shit.

After the Yakavetta trial, they had continued to successfully target Boston's Mafioso, and Murphy had been in his element. The routine was consistent, even if the details were varied. Da or Connor would get the info from Smecker, the Saints would strike again, and then they'd be off to the bar for a two day bender…three if they were feeling punchy. Then, unexpectedly, Da had thrown Murphy's happily chaotic existence into a tailspin.

Da informed them that it was time for him to return to Ireland and make things right with their Ma. The terms of his parole meant he couldn't leave the country, so he had to sneak out. A few thousand dollars to the captain of a dirty cargo freighter had done the trick. The way the boys had it figured, Da would be gone approximately three months.

These were turning into the longest months of Murphy's life.

The three MacManus men had decided it would be best to lay low while Da was away. In truth, Da and Connor had decided and Murphy was left with little choice in the matter. Now, a month into their sabbatical from Sainthood, he was climbing the walls, desperate for something to do.

After the first week, the novelty of sleeping for twelve or fourteen hours a day had worn off. Plus he had seen every decent movie on TV, and most of the crappy ones. If he ever had to sit through _Enemy Mine_ again, he was certain he'd claw his eyes out. Murphy knew it was getting bad when he started when he started to think wistfully about his old job at the meat packing plant.

It had made sense to quit their jobs, he knew. How on earth could they explain the injuries and absences that came along with their unofficial line of work? So they'd put in their notice and dedicated themselves to full-time Sainthood. Out of the $250,000 they had gotten from the Russian job at the hotel, they had kept twenty thousand, sent a nice sum to their Ma, and the rest had been left anonymously on the alter of their church.

So, after three weeks of doing nothing, and nearly dying of boredom, Murphy had decided to do volunteer work. No traditional volunteer work from him though, as Connor had been quick to point out. Murphy had made himself the official chucker out at McGinty's. Doc certainly hadn't minded the extra help and he was more than willing to compensate Murphy with Guinness & Jack.

As he waited impatiently for Da's call, he wished he had a Guinness right then. To hell with the fact that it was on eleven in the fuckin' morning, he was going to go get some. Just as he was reaching for his coat, the phone rang.

"Aye," he said, picking up the phone before the second ring.

"Murphy, me boy, how are ye?" It was Da, sounding more relaxed than Murphy had ever heard him. Clearly, his visit with Ma was going well.

"Been better," he said quickly. "How's Ma?"

"Yer bonny Ma is a wonderful woman who…" Before Da finished his sentence, Murphy heard his Ma in the background.

"Tell me lads to behave themselves until ye get back!" She hollered.

_Some things never change, _Murphy thought, chuckling to himself.

"Da, we need ta talk." He said, his mood quickly sobering. "We've got some unexpected company, and she's about to start asking some very serious questions."

----

On the way back to the apartment, Luciana steeled herself for the questions she had to ask. She wanted, no needed, some answers and the MacManus brothers hadn't been very forthcoming so far.

When Connor opened the apartment door for her, she saw Murphy pacing the living room, biting his thumb nervously.

Before she could speak, Connor looked at Murphy and asked, "Did he call?"

Murphy came to a halt and nodded his ascent, he opened his mouth to reply, but Luciana cut him off.

"Ok, guys, no more distractions. I want some answers." Luciana said, looking from one brother to the other.

Connor and Murphy exchanged a glance but neither spoke.

"What were you doing with David, if you're not cops?" She asked. Murphy's eyes widened at the mention of the word cops, but he kept his mouth shut and looked at his brother.

Despite her impatience, she watched the interplay between them with interest. There was an entire conversation happening silently before her eyes. A questioning look from Murphy, a slight shrug from Connor in response, followed by a nod from Murphy who was back to biting his thumb nail distractedly.

After a beat, Murphy sighed and turned to her. "Sit down and we'll talk."

Reluctantly, she obeyed. Connor pulled over one of the ratty chairs that populated the living room, and glared pointedly at Murphy.

Murphy gave another exaggerated sigh and pulled up a chair for himself. "How much do you know about the Yakavetta trial?" he asked, fidgeting slightly in his seat. "It got some national press a few months back."

Luciana was very aware of the two sets of blue eyes scrutinizing her at that moment. Thinking back, she said, "Not much…just what was covered in the papers. He was killed in the courtroom by some vigilantes, right? Some Irish guys, weren't they?" Her voice trailed off as she looked at them. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks. She gaped silently then she put her head in her hands. She heard someone, Connor probably, moving towards her but she held up a hand.

"Just give me a minute."

She heard footsteps retreating towards the kitchen and a moment later another set followed the first. _Unbelievable, _she thought, _absolutely unbelievable. What on earth have I gotten myself into?_

---

"That could've gone worse," said Connor, rummaging in the fridge for a beer.

"We're fucking out. I've already looked." Murphy said, lighting up cigarettes for himself and Connor. "Ma says to tell ye to behave yerself, by the way."

"What all did Da have to say?" Connor asked, and Murphy couldn't help but notice how deliberately nonchalant his brother's tone was.

"Well, he wasn't thrilled about the situation, but he agreed that she had a right to know. Roc was her brother and all." He replied.

"I suppose we ought to go check on her, make sure she isn't fuckin' flippin' out."

"Well, brother o' mine, ye can do all the babysittin' ye like, but I'm going to get some fuckin' beer." Murphy turned towards the door, but stopped short when he saw Luciana standing there.

"Oh, hell," she said tiredly. "I think we could all use a drink."

---

Murphy leaned against the bar, nursing his third pint. He had lasted through one beer in the booth with Connor and Luciana before he had excused himself. He just couldn't listen to the sadness in Connor's voice as he told the woman Roc's story. Connor's voice had faltered when he told Luciana about Roc bringing their stuff to the station and Murphy had known it was only going to get worse from there.

"Hey Doc!" Murphy called. "Can I get three shots of Jack?"

"Sure ye c-c-can." Doc said, lining them up and pouring it out. "Is yer brother alright?"

"He will be." Murphy said. After Doc had walked away, he added quietly, "I hope he will be."

Murphy downed his shot and took the other two over to the booth.

Connor nodded his thanks and downed one of the shots, leaving the other for Luciana.

"I'm goin' out for some air." He said, squeezing Connor's shoulder gently before walking away.

He opened the door and the cold air rushed up to meet him. He fumbled in his pocket for his lighter then pulled out an empty pack of cigarettes.

"Aw fuck." He said, glancing around. There was a guy leaning against the window, smoking. Murphy didn't recognize him from the bar, but it was hard to tell since the man had a hat pulled down over his eyes and his collar pulled up to block out the cold.

Amiably, Murphy said, "Mind if I bum one off ye?"

"Christ, MacManus! I thought you'd never ask!"

Murphy's eyes widened, then he laughed. "Motherfucker! How the hell are ye, Dolly? Did Smecker send ye?"

"Naw, it's nothin' official. I haven't even called Smecker about it. Duffy and I thought we'd let you know and see if it meant anything to you."

"See if what means anythin' to me?" Murphy asked, his curiosity peaked.

"Well, some guy was in the precinct today, askin' about Rocco. Said he flew in from some Podunk town in Ohio, lookin' for his fiance. When the guys in Missing Persons ran the girls name, the only hit was Rocco. Turns out, the fiancé is Rocco's sister. Her name is…" he paused and pulled out his notebook, "Luciana Della Rocco. The officer in MP sent him up to see us, since we "officially" closed Rocco's case. Turns out, the girl took off on him. He's a cop, so we're tryin' to help him out."

"Fuck, Dolly. Ye didn't point him in our direction, did ye?" Murphy asked, belately realizing how concerned he sounded.

"Hell no! Didn't figure you needed to be involved, but then we, Duffy and I that is, thought we should let you know what was goin' on. Figured she might turn up here lookin' for her brother."

"Thanks for the warnin', Dolly. If she turns up, we'll give ye a shout. Is this guy staying in town?"

"Yeah, he's going to hang around the station for a few days, make some discreet inquiries. We're makin' allowances since he's one of the boys in blue. You want I should keep your name outta this?"

"That'd be great, man. Give me best to Duffy and that fucker Greenly."

"Pass mine along to Connor, if you can get him away from that bird he's chatting up." The two men shook hands, and Dolly headed down the street.

Murphy looked in the window and his brother and Luciana. If he knew Connor at all (which he did, better than anyone else in the world), this whole situation was going to be trouble. This was just the kind of problem they didn't need now with Da away, but for Connor all that would matter was taking care of Luciana. His brother had found a target for all of his pent up feelings about Rocco and Murphy knew Connor wouldn't be able to walk away from this.

Taking one last drag, he sighed theatrically, then, realizing no one was there to appreciate it, he sighed again in earnest and walked back into the bar.

**please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**a/n: Is minic a bhris béal duine a shrón. Many a time a man's mouth broke his nose. Gaelic Proverb**

**Thanks to GoddessLaughs for the rockin' list of slang for drunkeness and for her words of encouragement and great Beta skills. Writers only want Betas with skills. And thanks to my other reviewer Elyse Black! I appreciate the feedback…now if only the rest of you would review!**

Chapter 6

Smecker ran his hands through his hair and pushed himself away from his desk. _Was nothing ever simple with these guys? _He asked himself, not for the last time. Grabbing his jacket, he headed out of the office. He needed some coffee. _Hell, _he thought, _I could use something a lot stronger than coffee. _

Deciding his career would be better served if he didn't have bourbon before lunch; he made his way to the coffee shop down the street. As he walked, ideas bounced around inside his head, each pushing for his full attention. Murphy's phone call the previous night had caught him off guard. Normally, he called them with information, but last night Murphy had called asking him to check out a cop from some town in Ohio.

He had made to ask Murphy why he wanted that information, but Murphy had cut him off.

"Hopefully, you won't have anything to tell me, so it won't matter that I asked." he had said. There was something in Murphy's voice that told Smecker not to take this matter lightly.

"I'll call you tomorrow." He told Murphy and he heard the click on the other end.

The more he had thought about the phone call, the stranger it had seemed. Normally, he dealt with Connor or their Da. Murphy was too impulsive and distracted to be a key part of the information exchanges that went on before any hit. He didn't even realize Murphy knew how to get in contact with him, until the phone call.

The request was strange, too. Why on earth would Murphy MacManus want information on a cop from Ohio? Smecker had given up on sleep at about four in the morning and he'd gone into the office to do some digging.

He had not been pleased with what he had discovered. This guy, Vic Tibolla, had popped up when Smecker searched the FBI database, and it wasn't for anything good. Tibolla was under surveillance in part of a wider investigation of the local mafia.

As soon as he got back from getting coffee, he checked the clock. It was 8 o'clock; there should be someone in the Cleveland field office by now that could give him some info. He was not disappointed. The field office knew for sure that Tibolla was on the take, and they suspected he was an enforcer, as well. Smecker was trying to puzzle out the connection between this guy and Murphy, when the field agent on the other end interrupted his thoughts.

"We didn't think he was high enough on the food chain to make a visit to another family. I'm surprised he popped up on your radar."

It took Smecker a second to process what he just heard. Thinking quickly, he said, "What pretense did he use for the trip?"

"He was going to Boston after some broad. Apparently, his fiancé left him."

"Do you have a name on her?" Smecker asked, his detective brain kicking into high gear.

"Some Italian name." The agent said and Smecker could hear the rustle of paperwork. "Here it is…Luciana Della Rocco."

Smecker thanked the field agent and promised to call him if anything of note occurred. He didn't know how Murphy had come across this piece of information, but he intended to find out. The last thing they needed was another jurisdiction's involvement in this mess. For the second time that morning, he grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

---

Luciana, Murphy and Connor were having an uncomfortably silent breakfast of coffee and stale doughnuts. Connor wasn't sure of the best way to cut the tension after the previous night's discussion.

Luciana had listened to his story about Roc and gotten banjoed in the process. By the time, he had finished and she had asked a few questions, her slurring speech made it clear that she needed to go home. When they had arrived, she had thanked him for his honesty and closed the bedroom door without a second glance. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but it wasn't that.

When the banging on the apartment door broke through the quiet, Connor was glad for the distraction. Puzzled as to who it could be at that hour, Connor started for the door.

He opened it to find a disheveled Smecker. Surprised, Connor said, "Come on in."

"Thanks, Connor. Good to see you. I got the info Murphy asked about, and it's not pretty. Is he here?"

Smecker ran his hand distractedly through his hair, and Connor noticed the dark shadows under his eyes. _Someone had a long night, _he thought. Then it occurred to him what Smecker had just said.

"What are ye talking about? Murph called ye?" Connor asked both questions in a sharp voice. Turning towards the kitchen, he saw his brother and asked, "Murph, what the fuck?"

Murphy moved towards his brother and slapped a hand on his shoulder, turning him towards the door. "Let's talk outside. I could use a smoke."

Connor opened his mouth to protest, but Murphy squeezed his shoulder and glanced meaningfully towards the kitchen.

"Fine." Connor said, giving his twin a piercing gaze.

When they arrived on the front stoop of the building, Connor repeated his earlier statement. "Murph, what the fuck?"

Smecker was looking at both of them with a combination of disbelief and amusement. Connor ignored this and stared pointedly at Murphy.

Holding Connor's gaze, Murphy's words tumbled out in an obvious attempt at pacification. "Listen, I didn't mention it to ye last night, what with ye dealin' with the girl, but Dolly came by the bar last night."

Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw Smecker jerk in surprise at the mention of Dolly's name. _At least, I'm not the only one left in the fuckin' dark, _he thought.

"Dolly said Vic," he looked pointedly at Connor. "_her_ Vic, was down at the station yesterday. The guys in Missing Persons send him up to see Dolly and Duffy since they were the ones who officially closed Roc's case." Murphy paused to take a breath and a drag, glanced at Connor, and rushed on. "Anyway, they told me he was going to be in town for a few days, and I thought I'd have Smecker check him out. Just wanted to know if there was anything we should know, ya know?"

Connor couldn't help but chuckle. Watching Murphy squirm when he knew he was in trouble was one of his favorite activities. Connor had learned early that when in trouble, he should stand still and shut up._Is minic a bhris béal duine a shrón_, is what his Uncle Sibeal had always said and Connor had taken it to heart. Murphy was the exact opposite. First he'd fidget, then he'd deny and before you could say "MacManus" he'd confessed to whatever they were getting blamed for.

Turning to Smecker, Connor said, "Obviously, there is something we should know. Yer a regular harbinger of doom, ye are. Lay it on us."

"Well, our boy has mob ties. They know he's on the take and they suspect he's an enforcer. They say he's here after his fiancé who, conveniently, is also Rocco's sister. The whole thing sounded too unlikely and I thought I better come."

"The reason my dear brother insisted so vehemently that we have this conversation outside is because the lass in question is brooding at our kitchen table as we speak."

Smecker's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't interrupt so Connor continued, "Apparently, this tosser is just an all around arse. He treated her badly and she came to Boston lookin' for Roc. She ended up at McGinty's and is currently residing with us." Connor paused, giving Smecker time to digest, then continued. "How does this fucker have mob connections anyway? I thought he was a small town boy."

"Well gentlemen, you have a lot to learn about the good old USA. The mob operates in way more places than the big cities. Youngstown is one of the last fully controlled mafia cities in the Midwest. They have their hands in everything. They control the police, city council, everything right down to the school board. Hell, right now, one of the main players in town right now is also a high school football coach, for god's sake. "

"Dontcha remember, Conn?" Murphy asked, excitedly. "We saw some show about it…_City Confidential _or some shite. Members of the city council even went to some mob conference in Sicily…right?" He asked, looking to Smecker for confirmation.

"All that TV you guys watch is finally starting to pay off. Here's an idea, read a book once in a while." Smecker responded, a smile playing across his face.

Connor was racking his brain for any memory of the program, but his thoughts were distracted by Murphy's next words. "This gives me an idea."

_Famous last words, _Connor thought to himself. Judging by the resigned look on Smecker's face, he was in complete agreement.

---

Luciana and Murphy were sitting on opposite ends of the couch. Murphy was completely engrossed with the movie and Luciana was attempting to read. _Attempting is the key word, _she thought, her eyes traveling to her couch companion for the hundredth time that evening.

In the few days, she had spent with the MacManus brothers Luciana had never seen Murphy be as still as he was at that moment. He would shake his foot, shuffle in his seat, or pace the room. Even if he stilled his lower body, his hands never quit. Lighting a cigarette, playing with his lighter or just hanging around the general vicinity of his mouth, they fascinated her. His tattoo and scars added so much character to body parts that seemed to have a life of their own.

Now, with him firmly planted in front of the TV, she had a chance to study him in stillness. He and Connor shared so many mannerisms that at times they almost appeared to move as one person, but when you separated them it quickly became clear how different they were.

She was just turning her eyes back to the book, when the door burst open and Connor walked in. The pink in his cheeks from the cold made him seem younger, less weary than he normally appeared. _Maybe it's because we haven't had one pleasant conversation since I got here_, she realized.

Connor glanced at the TV, then at Murphy who hadn't even acknowledged his entrance, then at Luciana.

"Damnit woman! Don't ye know ye can't let me brother watch _The Karate Kid_? He'll be cryin' afore it's over and then we'll be hearing "wax on, wax off" for the next three weeks." Connor said, glaring at her accusingly.

She giggled in spite of herself, and it quickly turned into genuine laughter when Murphy got off the couch and assumed the crane position. He proceeded to attack Connor with horribly exaggerated martial arts moves all over living room. Each attack punctuated with a loud "Hi-Ya"!

"Alright, Murphy-san!" Connor said exasperatedly evading a wild side kick aimed at his head. "I surrender!"

"That's fuckin' right, Grasshopper." Murphy said and settled himself back on the couch to finish watching Ralph Macchio kick some Cobra Kai butt.

"Oh, by the way, don't either of ye make any plans for tonight. We're going out for dinner." Connor announced and headed into the kitchen.

Luciana tried not to dwell on the fact that she had no plans at all. No plans for dinner and no plans for the rest of her life.

**A/N Part 2: I am going to give fresh life to the three most under-represented characters in BDS fanfic land…Duffy, Dolly & Greenly, Boston PDs own three stooges. They get no love so I decided it was time to remedy that. They will be appearing throughout the story. Hope you enjoy!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks to GoddessLaugh for her usual awesomeness and for saving the 1st scene of this chapter. I was crashin' & burnin' before the help.**

**Thanks also to my newest reviewer, Aranatta. I appreciate you taking the time to read & review. **

**Tapa: Spanish appetizers usually served with drinks.**

**Headers: Irish slang for mad, crazy people.**

CHAPTER 7

Connor was humming quietly to himself as he stood beneath the shower spray. He was letting the warm water wash away some of the tension that had been building in him since Luciana had arrived in their midst. Her presence had dredged up all his feelings about Rocco that had been lying just under the surface. He didn't regret taking her in, but he wasn't prepared for the emotional turmoil that was part of the package.

He knew he needed to get away from the waves of emotion that had been threatening to overwhelm him, and Murphy's plan seemed like just the thing. It was an insane plan, as most of Murph's schemes were, but Connor couldn't deny its appeal.

His brother had proposed a holiday of sorts. They were supposed to lay low in Boston until Da returned, and that made sense. Boston's baddies were on edge and they were packing enough heat to take out an army. He and Murph did some dumb stuff but they weren't complete headers; they knew they needed Da for any big jobs. But, as Murphy had been quick to point out, no one would be expecting a reign of righteous fury to pop up in Youngstown, Ohio.

The two of them could have a grand time. They would go to Youngstown, do some "house cleaning", see the sights, and still get back to Boston before Da. Murphy had been so enthusiastic about his scheme, that, before too long, Connor had found himself warming to the idea. It hadn't been just the two of them for almost a year; first there was Roc, then Da and now Luciana. Connor missed the days when he and Murphy would spend the whole day together with no interruptions. It was clear that Murphy did as well. He had become so animated during his attempt to convince him that he had reminded Connor of a puppy, wriggling with excitement.

Never able to deny his brother, Connor had eventually agreed. No matter how much hassle this little venture brought them, it would be worth it to Connor. The look on Murphy's face when he had agreed would make it worthwhile. It had reminded Connor of the Christmas when Murphy got his first bike.

They had just turned eight and Murphy wanted a bike in the worst way. Seamus and Slevin O'Grady had gotten bikes 3 months prior and they hadn't stopped taking the piss out of him or Murphy since. Connor had a thicker skin, even then, and he had ignored their boasts, but Murphy wanted his own set of wheels and their jibes stung. Murphy had begged and pleaded with Ma for his own bike to no avail. Money was tight and she wasn't buying a bike for the two of them to gallivant around town on. After three months of fruitless effort, Murphy had broken Seamus O'Grady's nose, and given up on getting a bike of his own.

So on Christmas morning, when Murphy's eyes had landed on the shiny red bike in the middle of the living room, he went wild. Alternating between jumping up and down and hugging their Ma, Murphy had woken up half the neighborhood, with his exuberance. Connor had spent the next two years riding around on the handlebars of that stupid bike, and, even though his ass was perpetually sore, he just couldn't tell Murphy no.

Now, twenty years later, he still couldn't.

After he had acquiesced to the trip, Connor had decided to take a walk to work on the details. The obvious elephant in the room was what to do with Luciana. They couldn't just abandon her but they couldn't take her with them either. He had rolled it around for the better part of an hour before coming up with the solution.

He made the necessary phone calls and the key players were on board. The only thing left to do was sell the plan to Luciana. If she wouldn't cooperate, then they weren't going anywhere. No matter how much he was looking forward to the quality time with his brother, he couldn't just walk away from her. Hopefully, if he buttered her up with good food and strong drink, she'd agree without too much fuss.

----

Luciana frowned at her reflection in the mirror, trying to find the bright side of her current wardrobe situation. When she had made her speedy departure from Ohio, she hadn't been thinking about what to wear when going out to for Spanish food in Boston. She had been surviving in her favorite jeans and a worn out Ohio State hoodie that had definitely seen better days. After Connor's announcement about going out to dinner, she had donned a t-shirt and some old sweats of Murphy's and departed for the laundry mat around the corner.

Now, looking in the mirror, she was glad she'd taken the time to wash the jeans. The dryer had shrunk them back to their original size and they hung snugly around her hips. She had her favorite turtleneck sweater on and some clunky black shoes. _No point in worrying about it, _she realized, _I don't have anything to change into even if I wanted to._ First thing in the morning, she was going to have to take stock of her finances and come up with a game plan.

Pulling her hair up into a messy bun, she gave her reflection one more glance and headed downstairs.

"Well, well, well! She does own something other than that fuckin' jumper." Murphy said, chuckling at her discomfiture.

"At least, I own some clothing that's not black." She snapped back, her voice harsher than she intended.

"Settle down, kids, or there will be no flan for you" Said Connor, coming in from the kitchen before Murphy had a chance to retort. "You clean up well." He added, giving Luciana an appraising look.

"Thanks, and likewise." She replied, willing herself not to blush under his gaze.

She couldn't help but notice how well MacManus brothers cleaned up. They wore jeans and dark sweaters. Connor's was charcoal grey and Murphy's was, of course, black. They had both showered and shaved; their smooth cheeks making them look younger, boyish almost.

"Let's get this show on the road! I'm fuckin' starving."

Connor reached out and ruffled his brother's hair. "Yer always starvin', Murph. It's one of the few constants of the universe." He said, opening the apartment door and gesturing to her, "Ladies first."

----

Luciana leaned back in the booth, glad to have a moment alone to think. Connor had made his was over to the bar for another pitcher of sangria and Murphy had excused himself to the restroom.

Dinner certainly hadn't been what she was expecting. Connor had brought them to a cozy Spanish restaurant, tucked in between a sports bar and a jewelry store. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, and, judging by the welcome the brothers had received, they had been there before.

Connor had ordered for all of them without ever looking at a menu. She had been taken aback to hear him speaking fluent Spanish in a lively discussion with their waitress. Murphy had chimed in a few times, making the girl laugh. When the waitress returned, she was carrying a tray that held several different types of tapas and a pitcher of sangria. Later, she brought out a huge dish of spicy paella and three forks. The three of them happily dug in.

The sangria had put them all at ease and Luciana had felt some of her reservations slip away. They had talked and laughed all through dinner. No heavy conversations about death or murder or justice, but normal everyday chatter. She discovered just how difficult it was to be around Connor and Murphy and not have a good time.

Now, she sipped her drink, watching Connor from across the room. He was talking to an enthralled audience that consisted of the entire female staff of the restaurant; two waitresses and the hostess. She was able to hear the lilt of his voice but he was again speaking Spanish and the meaning was lost to her. Judging by the tinkling laughter that punctuated his pauses, it was quite an amusing tale.

The twins were like a whirlpool, she realized. People were drawn to them whether they wanted to be or not. When they were together, Murphy and Connor seemed to exude all of the things that made life worth living: joy, faith, laughter and love.

The love that flowed back and forth so freely between them had a seductive, tangible quality. It was as though if you could just get close enough you could grab some for yourself. Everyone wanted to be loved as completely and unconditionally as the twins loved each other.

_I'm getting sucked in to the MacManus vortex, _she realized. The thought disturbed her, more than she was willing to admit.

Just then Murphy slid into the booth, interrupting her reverie.

"Quite the ladies man, isn't he?" She said, nodding towards the bar.

Murphy followed her gaze and laughed softly. "Aye, that he is. He always has been, the fucker."

"I'm sure you don't do too badly yourself." Her voice oozed false sympathy as she patted his hand.

"Sara Delaney put it best…"

"Wait, who's Sara Delaney?" She interrupted.

"She was me first…well, ye know."

"Ah." She grinned at him, his meaning slowly making it's way to her sangria addled brain.

"She made a man outta me in her Da's barn one magical St. Patty's day. I was flipped for her o' course. Been mooning after her for weeks, but she'd only had eyes for Connor. For some reason, that night she had a change of heart, or so I thought."

She tried not to laugh as he gave an exaggerated sigh and tried, rather unsuccessfully, to look morose.

"The next day, I showed up at her house, flowers in hand, ready to profess my undying devotion. She took one look at me at the door, and, if ye can fuckin' believe this, she laughed at me. The fuckin' slag!" He was warming to his story now, leaning towards her his eyes sparkling.

"Oh, poor baby! What did she say?"

"Well, she says to me, 'Murphy, let me tell ye something, yer the kind o' guy that a girl can have one great night with, but it's Connor that we want to take home to meet our Ma's.'"

"She did not say that!" Luciana sputtered, nearly spitting sangria everywhere during her laughter.

"Aye, she did. That very next night, she was back to batting her eyes in me brother's direction."

"I don't believe it! What a horrible thing for someone to do."

"It's amazing I turned out as well adjusted as I am, after a trauma like that at such an impressionable age." Suddenly, he leaned towards her half laughing, half leering. "So, care to see if she was right about that one _great _night?"

At that, she did spit sangria all over the table much to Murphy's obvious enjoyment.

----

Connor collected the pitcher of sangria, tucked the hostess' phone number into his pocket and turned back towards the booth. He had no idea what his brother had just said but the results spoke for themselves. Luciana was wiping sangria off the table and Murphy's shirt simultaneously. There was no way Murphy could help her as he was laughing so hard that there were tears trickling down his cheeks.

"Why on earth did ye spit on me brother, woman?" He demanded, sending Murphy into fresh gales of laughter.

Blushing all the way to the roots of her hair, Luciana muttered something that sounded like _Sara_ and _lecher_ and Connor knew immediately what had just occurred.

"Damnit, Murph! Ye know yer not supposed to proposition the company!" he said, swatting his twin in the back of the head. Turning to Luciana, he added, "Don't let him get ye with that sob story."

Murphy waved a hand in protest, but he was still laughing to hard to speak in his own defense.

"Sorry but it's only fair that she knows" Connor said grinning. "Otherwise, she might fall victim to yer ploy." Sliding into the booth beside Luciana, he continued, "Don't you worry about Murph.. The following weekend, Don Juan here got his revenge. He bedded both of Sara Delaney's sisters."

"You didn't!" She gasped incredulously.

Looking smug, Murphy leaned back in the both and put his hands behind his head. "Ahhh, Meghan and Kathleen Delaney, now that was a night!"

The proud expression on Murphy's face and the equally shocked expression on Luciana's caused Connor dissolve into his own fit of laughter. Eventually, they all calmed down and, once he had poured them all a fresh glass, he turned his attention to the real reason for their dinner out.

"Luciana, Murphy and I were hoping you could do us a favor. We've got to go out of town for a few weeks, and we were hoping that ye'd be willing to hold down the fort for us."

"We hate taking off and leaving the place, not knowing exactly when we'll be back in town." Murphy added, looking at her earnestly. "We'd really appreciate it."

Connor watched as her good mood began to evaporate.

"No guys, you've done so much for me and I'd love to help you out, but I wasn't kidding about needing to move on. Vic will show up in Boston eventually." She was fiddling with her napkin, ripping it into little shreds. "I can't bring that kind of trouble down on your heads."

"We didn't tell you sooner, because we didn't want to worry ye," Connor paused.

Murphy picked up where his twin left off, "But he's already here. Been here two or three days as best we can figure."

The fear in her eyes tugged at Connor's heart and he knew that Murphy noticed it too, because his brother's hand had just come to rest over Luciana's.

"Ye've nothing to worry about, Luciana." Connor said, trying to soothe her with his voice. "We've got friends with the Boston police who are keeping an eye on him for us. He may know you came here but he's having no luck finding ye."

"Aye. And we intend to keep it that way." Murphy added.

"So will ye stay?" Connor asked, hoping for all of their sakes that she'd agree.

There was still a hint of fear in her eyes, but she picked up her glass, downed the rest of the sangria and said "Well, I guess I do have to make up for spitting all over your brother."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: For those of you keeping score at home, Charles Bronson is one of the stars of _The Magnificent Seven_. Stupid fuckin' rope!

Irish Slang Lessons: Cheesed off--annoyed; Bollixed--very drunk; Eat the head off--yell at, verbally attack

German: Teletbubi zurück Winker--someone who waves back at the Teletubies/Homosexual

French: Ne tente pas le diable--Don't push your luck

**Thanks as always to GoddessLaughs for rockin' out with all the help. Also, shoutout to my newest reviewer shortbutlethal.**

CHAPTER EIGHT

Luciana had agreed to stay only because she had no where else to go. She had known, even with all the sangria in her system, that they didn't need her to "hold down the fort." They could probably go away for a month, leaving the front door wide open, and no one would bother even going inside.

No they had asked her to stay out of some combination of pity and duty. At any other time, she would have balked at having those types of sentiments directed at her, but she had an empty wallet and no where to go. The chilly Boston weather was all she needed to convince her that, just this once, she should take the help.

Really, it wouldn't be so bad without them there. They had treated her like she belonged there from the moment she arrived, but that didn't change the fact that she was living with two virtual strangers.

The first thing on her agenda was finding a job. She didn't have enough money left to do a load of laundry, let alone buy food for the next three weeks. She decided to bite the bullet and see if the twins had any idea where she could find some type of gainful employment.

She found Murphy laying on the couch, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, watching TV.

"Hey, where's your other half?"

"He's out getting stuff together for the trip. He'll be back in a bit, I expect." He said, his eyes glued to the TV.

"So, are you going to tell me where you guys are going?" She asked for what seemed like the millionth time since the previous night.

"Nope." He said simply.

She gave and exasperated sigh, but decided it would be best to just drop it, for the time being.

"Whatcha watchin'?" She asked, taking a seat.

"Only the best fucking western ever made." He responded, still staring intently at the TV.

"I didn't know _Lonesome Dove_ was on." She said, and he sat up abruptly, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Please woman, ye've got to be bloody kidding! Ye cannot seriously think that," he paused, looking affronted, "that _mini-series_ is the best western ever."

"Oh, come on! It has one of the best ensemble casts ever put together. You can't do much better than Robert Duvall and Tommy Lee Jones."

"If I had known you were this fuckin' deranged, I'd never let you set foot in this house." His manner took on that of school teacher, lecturing a particularly daft student.

"_Rio Bravo, Silverado, _and Connor's personal favorite _The Magnificent Seven_: Those are great ensemble casts. I, however, am watching a movie with the greatest actor ever to hold a six shooter. He needs no ensemble cast to carry a film, ladies and gentlemen, his royal highness, Clint Eastwood! Long may he reign." He stood and bowed to the screen.

Chuckling at his antics, she asked, "So which of Dirty Harry's movies are you watching?"

"_Pale Rider_, of course." He turned to face her, and, dropping his accent completely, said, "'and I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on his was Death and hell followed with him.'"

"Alrighty then. I guess I'll have to rent that one sometime." She said, rolling her eyes. "Can I interrupt your quality time with Clint?"

"I suppose so." He reluctantly turned off the TV and asked, "What's up?"

"Well, I need to find a job. I've officially hit the end of my bankroll and I think it's best I work as opposed to begging for change on the street."

"Listen, if ye need money, Conn and I…"

She cut him off, her eyes hardening. "Listen Murphy, I'm not a MacManus family charity case."

She started to stand, but sat back down when she heard the beseeching tone in his voice. "Listen, I'm sorry. I wasn't tryin' to offend ye."

"No, _I'm _sorry." She sighed, resignedly. "I'm just a bit touchy about everything right now."

"A _bit_?" He said, raising an eyebrow.

She grabbed an empty pack of cigarettes off the coffee table and winged them at his head.

"Peace, woman." He said, easily dodging the flying pack. "I think I know just the place for ye."

----

Connor leaned over towards the nightstand, his hand reaching absently for his coffee. There was paperwork scattered across the bed where Connor sat and there was a box of files still untouched on the dresser.

On the other double bed, Smecker sat poring over yet another set of documents. At first, Smecker had argued vehemently against this proposed trip of theirs, but when Connor made it clear they were going with or without his help the agent had grudgingly relented.

"Hey loverboy, this might interest you." Smecker said, passing a file across the gap in the beds to Connor.

Connor rolled his eyes at the nickname, snatching the file from Smecker's outstretched hand. "Shut it."

Months ago, just after the Yakavetta trial, he, Da and Smecker had come up with a plan to exchange information regarding potential hits. They needed a way to meet that wouldn't attract too much undue attention, and could be easily explained if anyone ever decided to ask. Smecker suggested they meet at a hotel that was popular with the homosexual community for illicit rendezvous'.

Smecker figured that if Connor was always be the one to come for the information exchange, anyone who noticed would assume they were lovers. Da had been quite taken with the idea and thus Connor's time as a fancy boy had begun. Everyone who was privy to their little plan loved to ride Connor about it, especially Murphy.

_Fuckin' Murphy, _Connor thought for about the hundredth time that afternoon. He was sure his brother was lounging around the apartment without a care in the world, while he became an expert on the Youngstown Mafia.

Smecker had pulled a ton of information out of the FBI database and they were sorting through it all day in an attempt to assemble a list of targets and their pertinent information.

Connor couldn't believe how the mob had saturated the entire city. Destroying evil men would be as easy shooting fish in a barrel.

The file Smecker had just handed him was very interesting. It was Vic Tibolla's file. Luciana had never mentioned that Vic had been involved with the mob, but involved he was. He was suspected in at least three unsolved murders and there were four brutality complaints made against him in the last two years.

"Can this fucking be right?" He asked Smecker.

"Well, in 99 of police precincts, this guy would have been history two complaints ago, but with the chief of police on the payroll…" Smecker trailed off, distracted by whatever was in the file he was holding.

Connor pulled over the notebook he was using for names and addresses and added Vic Tibolla to the list. They just might want to pay him a visit. Looking up at the clock, Connor ran a hand through his hair and got to his feet.

"Well, I've got to hit the road. Need to get home and round up Luciana and Murphy; we're taking her to McGinty's tonight to meet the boys."

"I need to get back to the office, anyway. Have to keep up appearances, you know?" Smecker said, straightening his tie. "Tell the three stooges I said hello."

"Will do." Connor said, and then, seeing Smecker blow him a kiss, he added. "Fuck You!"

"As far as the hotel staff is concerned, you just did!"

----

Murphy walked down the darkening street, completely oblivious to the fact that his companion was almost jogging to keep up.

"I can't believe they hired me. This is so great!" Luciana exclaimed, from beside him.

"Well, I needed to do something to educate ya, and Ramon is an old friend. Conn and I have been going to that rundown theatre since we first came to the States.

He loves to run old movies on Friday and Saturday nights. Lots of weeks, we would be the only ones there. Eventually, Ramon started taking requests and business has picked up. His wife just had twins and I know he's wanted to be at home more in the evening.

Besides," Murphy smirked, increasing his stride "if anyone can reform your obviously poor taste in movies, it's Ramon." He said, increasing his stride.

"Hardy-har-har." She said. Then added in a breathless voice, "Why are we practically running?"

Murphy realized just how fast he was walking, but he didn't slow. "We're late. Connor's going ta fuckin' kill me. We were supposed to be at McGinty's over an hour ago."

"What are we doing at the bar?" She asked, curiously. "I thought you boys still had lots to do to prepare for your mysterious voyage."

"Conn and I thought it'd be best for you to meet some of our friends. One or two of them will be checking in on you while we're away." He said, preparing himself for a verbal onslaught. He wasn't disappointed.

"Wait, are you telling me that I'm going to have babysitters? You've got to be kidding me. Where do you guys get off making a decision like that without even mentioning it to me?" Her voice rose as she spoke.

_Christ, she's got a fucking temper, _he thought. Aloud, he said, "Listen, ye've only been in Boston like a week. We're going to be away and we thought it might be nice if ye had some one ta call in case of an emergency. Don't forget, Vic is still in town as well."

"You could've asked, or at least let me know instead of dragging me to the bar to be surprised." She said.

"Sorry, I-we didn't think." He said, then hoping a little guilt would help, he added, "Listen, don't make a fuss. Me brother won't be able to relax if he isn't sure yer safe."

"Fine, fine. I'll go along, if only to get the two of you out of my hair for a few weeks." She said, placated for the moment.

Just as Murphy reached for the door to the bar, he felt Luciana's hand on his arm. "Thanks for looking out for me. I really appreciate the help with the job situation." She stood on tiptoe and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

"Think nothin' of it." He said, uncomfortable with her gratitude. "We best be getting in there afore Connor starts punchin' stuff."

----

Connor was leaning against the bar, tapping his foot impatiently. He had one eye on the door and the other on the dart board. If Murphy and Luciana didn't turn up soon, he was going to hunt his brother down and duct tape a watch to his wrist.

He had arrived back at the apartment, only to find it deserted. After a quick search of the place, he realized both his brother's coat and Luciana's were gone. Connor had figured that they must both be at the bar already and he headed over there himself.

Irritated that they hadn't even taken the time to leave him a note, he had stalked over to McGinty's. He walked in prepared to eat the head right off of Murphy, but he when his eyes scanned the bar, the only familiar face was Greenly's.

Now, an hour and 4 beers later, Dolly and Duffy had arrived, but still no Murphy. Connor had gone from cheesed off to royally pissed. It had even started to affect his dart game. He was losing to fucking Greenly, for Christ's sake.

"You're up." Said Greenly, sitting on the vacant stool next to Connor and looking quite pleased with himself.

"So Connor, where's that brother of yours and this mysterious woman we're supposed to be looking out for?" Dolly asked, taking a swig of Guinness.

"Seriously, my wife is gonna kill me." Duffy said, sighing. "I was supposed to watch the kids tonight so she could go to her sister's."

Connor threw his dart with way more force than necessary, and turned to face the three men at the bar. "Listen guys, if I knew where me fuckin' brother was, I'd go get his sorry ass and drag him back here."

At that moment, as if summoned by his brother's words, Murphy came barreling through the door. He looked up and caught Connor's eye. Connor stood, feeling a mixture of relief and anger. He moved forward, ready to pound his brother, but Murphy pulled Luciana forward and held her in front of him.

"I swear to Christ, it's her fuckin' fault!" Murphy yelled, keeping Connor out of reach with his human shield.

Twisting out of his grasp, Luciana said, "Oh no you don't mister! No one told me about this meeting. Not my fault you're late."

"Judas!" Murphy gasped at her, as Connor caught him in a headlock.

Connor and Murphy had been fighting each other since before they could walk and it was hard for either to keep an advantage. A flurry of curses flew back and forth between them in a variety of languages, while they both struggled to maintain control.

"Teletbubi zurück Winker!" Murphy shouted, punching Connor in his quad.

Rubbing his leg with one hand and maintaining the headlock with the other, Connor growled, "Ne tente pas le diable, brother." And knuckled the top of Murphy's head.

"Boys," Luciana said, in a patronizing voice, "if you keep this up, you'll be sent to bed with no beer."

Relinquishing his hold, Connor addressed her and Murphy. "I hope the two of ye are proud of yerselves. Duffy probably won't get laid again this week, thanks to you."

"Fucker." Duffy muttered, taking a long drink, while everyone else chuckled.

Putting his hand on Luciana's back, he steered her towards the bar. "Luciana, let me introduce ye to the boys."

----

Connor downed one of the shots Doc and just placed in front of him and looked down the bar. Luciana was making girly type noises over pictures of Duffy's kids, while Murphy refereed the game of pool that Greenly and Dolly were embroiled in.

"Hey, Murph!" He called to his brother, pointing to the full shot glass.

"I'll be back, boyos. Jackie D. is callin' ta me," Murphy said, heading over towards Connor.

"So where the fuck were ye tonight?" Connor slurred slightly, trying to keep his voice from betraying his curiosity.

His brother made short work of the shot and said, "Job hunting."

"Huh?" Connor grunted.

"Huh…ye sound like a fuckin' caveman." Turning around, he called, "Hey Doc, can we get two more?"

"H-here ye go, boys." Doc said, setting down their glasses. "Fuck! Ass!"

Murphy tossed another one back and said, "Luciana wanted ta get a job, so I took her to see Ramon."

Connor was completely bollixed and this news took a while to reach his very impaired brain. He was forming a response, when he saw Greenly shank the cue ball for the second time in just a few minutes.

"Greenly needs ta start watchin' the table and not the other patrons." Murphy laughed, and Connor followed Greenly's gaze over to Luciana. "It appears he's got eyes for our houseguest."

Connor watched as his brother stood a bit shakily and headed over to the pool table. He couldn't hear what his twin whispered to Greenly, but knowing Murphy it was easy enough to guess. Greenly took a half-hearted swipe at Murphy, as a blush spread over his face.

"I've got winner!" Luciana announced, as she and Duffy made their way over to the pool table.

"That's going to be me." Dolly said, surveying the table. "Someone here is too distracted to play a decent game."

They all laughed as Greenly promptly scratched the cue ball again.

**Please Review! Concrit Welcome**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Irish Slang: slash / urinate

Song lyrics are from "Irish Drinking Song" by Flogging Molly (originally by Buck-o-Nine)

Italian: _Calmati / _Calm Yourself _ne vale non la pena / _it's not worth it

Spanish: _hermano / _brother

**I bow down before the Goddess(Laughs) again! Without her positive influence, this chapter would have fallen apart!**

**Again, thanks to all of you who took the time to review the last chapter. Hopefully, this one will meet your expectations!**

**CHAPTER 9**

"_Well, I stumbled in at 2 AM all drunk and full of smoke_

_My wife said "I have had enough, that's it, I'm sick, get out!"_

_So I stumbled down to Kelly's pub across the edge of town_

_And I told the boys me story and we had another round"_

Murphy bellowed loudly and off key, as he lurched down the almost empty street.

_My God, _Luciana thought_, He's going to wake up the whole neighborhood. _

She hoisted Connor back up onto her shoulder, mentally kicking herself again for not accepting the help that Dolly and Greenly had offered.

_Why on earth did I think I'd be able to get them home in this state? _

She cringed, as Connor joined his brother for the chorus, singing directly into her ear.

"_We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and_

_drink and fight!_

_We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and_

_drink and fight!_

_And if I see a pretty girl, I'll sleep with her tonight!_

_We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and_

_drink and fight!"_

Now, as she tried to herd the two drunken MacManus brothers through the streets of Boston, she realized she was out of her depth. Just as she got one of them pointed in the right direction and walking, the other would wander into an alley to "take a slash", as they so eloquently referred to it.

While she waited for Murphy to stumble back out of the alley, she listened to the next verse of their ballad, echoing off the surrounding buildings.

"_And Mary McGregor, well she was a pretty whore_

_She'd always greet you with a smile and never lock her door_

_But on the day she died, all the men in town did weep_

_For Mary McGregor finally got some sleep"_

_If these guys are three sheets to the wind, then I'm at least two_, she realized, blearily. She wasn't sure what she'd do if they had to struggle on much further. Sleeping on the street was actually starting to look appealing. Connor was rapidly losing the ability to walk, and she found herself starting to buckle under his weight. At least all the exercise was keeping her warm.

Murphy appeared out of the alley, swaying slightly while trying to zip up his pants and began another round of the chorus.

"_We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and_

_drink and fight!_

_We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and_

_drink and fight!_

_And if I see a pretty girl, I'll sleep with her tonight!_

_We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and_

_drink and fight!"_

Leaning on the building beside them, Murphy was lurching along and she was impressed at his ability to sing while managing to keep a cigarette dangling between his lips.

Luciana flinched as Connor joined in with his brother on what she fervently hoped was the last verse.

"_Well I once loved a girl, a child I'm told_

_I gave her my heart and she gave me a cold_

_So now I sit standing here out in the pouring rain_

_I'll stumble back to Kelly's pub and cry away me pain"_

When the steps to their apartment building came into view, Luciana wanted to jump for joy. If she were a little more sober and carrying a little less MacManus, she probably would have.

Connor seemed to have lost his interest in the song, but Murphy gave the chorus one more go.

"_We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and_

_drink and fight!_

_We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and_

_drink and fight!_

_And if I see a pretty girl, I'll sleep with her tonight!_

_We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and_

_drink and fight!"_

Murphy stumbled up the stairs ahead of them, appearing to have finished his song. He turned around, giving her a lecherous look, and said, "Hey, ye're a pretty girl. Wanna sleep with me tonight?"

"And they say romance is dead." She rolled her eyes, giving him a little push, "Just get in the house, Murphy."

Once she got Connor into the apartment, she eased him onto the couch where he slumped to one side and promptly began humming the chorus of Murphy's song. Between their singing and her being a bit hammered, she was getting quite the headache.

A noise caught her attention. Looking up, she saw Murphy rummaging through the fridge.

"Need another beer." He slurred, knocking a take-out container onto the floor, while he dug in the back of the fridge.

"None of us needs another beer. What we all need is some sleep." She said, pulling him away from the fridge and firmly closing the door. "And maybe some ear plugs," she added, as Connor decided to give the chorus one more go.

She steered Murphy towards the bedroom, leaving Connor wailing in the living room. When they got into the bedroom, Murphy bent over in an attempt at untying his boots. About ten seconds later, he had toppled over and was sprawled on the floor, whooping with laughter.

"Come on, you idiot." She reached over tried to pull him up. Another ten seconds passed and they were both sprawled on the floor and Murphy was still laughing.

"Fine! As far as I'm concerned, you can sleep on the floor." The harshness of her words didn't extend to her actions, as she began untying his boots for him.

Now bootless, he stood and stripped off his shirt.

"That's my cue to go!" She said, whirling around, as he reached for his belt.

_Too fast, _she thought and waited until the room stopped spinning before she headed out to collect Connor.

Connor had somehow managed to get himself to the kitchen and find a bottle of Bushmills. He looked up at her with bleary eyes when she came into the kitchen.

"Shouldan't go ta McGinty's anymore." He said cryptically and took another swig. "Makes me think of him."

The instant the bottle hit the table she picked it up and screwed on the cap.

"Makes you think of who?" Luciana asked, more interested in keeping him awake than she was in the actual answer.

"R-roc. 'twas my fault. Tis my fault, he's dead." He said, his voice starting to break. "Shouldan't let him be a part of it at all."

There was suddenly a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with having too many beers. There had been an unspoken agreement not to talk about David, but apparently a few beers (well, more like fifteen beers and who knows how many shots) could make Connor forget such niceties.

Ignoring his words, she pulled him to his feet and steered him towards the bedroom. He had one arm around her shoulders and the other one nearly poked out her eye as he tried to pat her head.

"Wantcha ta know that m'sorry. Wish he was still here."

"I wish he was, too."

They had reached the bedroom to find Murphy passed out on his bed in nothing but his boxers, a lit cigarette still dangling from his fingers.

"Murph made his peace," he said, grabbing for the cigarette. "But I can't. Can't!" His voice raised in frustration.

Taking the cigarette and snuffing it out, she pushed him on to the bed and began the boot ritual for the second time. She was hoping against hope that he would nod off, but when she looked up there were tears in his eyes.

"Connor, don't do this." She pleaded. "Not now."

He wiped at his eyes, not looking at her.

She leaned forward, reaching pull his shirt off. As she pulled it over his head, he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"M'so sorry. So sorry." He repeated, his face pressed into her abdomen.

The emotions she had been trying suppress overwhelmed her and the tears began to slide down her cheeks. They were as much for the man in front of her as they were for her brother.

Pulling away, she sat down next to him and said, "It's no one's fault. No one's but the bastard who shot him."

She looked over and saw the glistening of tears on his cheeks, and she wanted so much to ease his pain. "Connor, no one blames you for this. You have to stop blaming yourself."

She leaned back on the bed and pulled him down beside her. "Shh, shh." She murmured, rubbing his back. He rested his head on her shoulder and she could feel the slight tremor run through his body as he released the grief and pain she knew he had been harboring for far too long.

Eventually, his breathing calmed and he was still. His soft snores were in perfect time with Murphy's.

_I bet they don't remember any of this in the morning, _she thought smiling despite the sadness of the last half hour.

She had been trying to avoid dealing with David's death. So far it had been fairly easy, what with each day bringing some new MacManus related activity. Looking down at Connor, she realized that she needed to grieve as well. Even in her intoxicated state, she wished for the same release that Connor just had just experienced.

Now was certainly not the time for that, she decided. Now was the time for sleep.

She started to ease out from under Connor's head when his arm came across her waist pulling her close.

"Connor?" She asked softly, nudging his shoulder.

No response.

"Connor," she tried again, a little louder, this time attempting to push herself up. He moved, but not how she had hoped. He flung his leg over hers and continued to snore.

_Oh Crap_ was her last coherent thought before sleep claimed her.

----

Murphy couldn't help but chuckle as he watched the awkward dance going on between Luciana and Connor. They were both waiting for the coffee to finish, looking anywhere but at each other, and he wondered for the hundredth time that morning what had happened between the two of them last night.

When he had rolled over that morning fumbling for his cigarettes, he had been very surprised to Luciana and Connor sharing a bed. Although he wasn't sure sharing was exactly the right word.

Luciana had been fully clothed, right down to her shoes, laying flat on the bed, and Connor, shirtless and shoeless, had flung an arm and a leg thrown over her body, effectively trapping her. Murphy would have laughed aloud right then, if only his head hadn't been pounding quite so badly.

Never one to let an opportunity for some good ribbing pass him by, Murphy waited until Luciana and Connor had both made their way to the kitchen before he struck.

"Can't keep yer hands of me brother, can ye?" He said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Luciana, as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

"Yeah, Murphy, that's it. I just couldn't control myself." She snapped sarcastically, rubbing her temples. "That's why I'm still fully clothed."

Murphy allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk when he saw her start to blush. Some people just didn't deal well with embarrassment.

She glared at him and then at Connor. "Do you guys have any freaking Tylenol?" Murphy caught the flicker of relief that crossed her face when Connor, mumbling something incoherent, headed towards the bathroom.

_Oh, no _he thought, eyeing Luciana, _there will be no changing the subject for you._

"I know we're twins and all, but we don't look that much alike." He said, his Cheshire cat grin widening even more. "If I remember correctly, I'm the one who propositioned ye last night, not me brother. Did ye just trip and fall inta the wrong bed by mistake?"

"Shut it." Connor said, slamming a bottle of generic pain killers onto the counter. "Just fuckin' shut it."

If he weren't enjoying himself so much, Murphy might have felt bad for Connor; dealing with himself, an embarrassed Luciana and a hangover couldn't be fun.

"My, aren't we a bit narky this mornin'?" He stood and ruffled his brother's hair. "Better get movin'. We've got shopping to do today!"

"Fuck you." Connor replied, pushing Murphy's hand away from his head.

"I second that." Luciana said, taking her coffee out into the living room.

Murphy just laughed as he headed into the bathroom to take a shower. He really was going to have to find out what happened to get the two of them so worked up.

----

"Luciana did well with the boys last night." Murphy said, taking the lit cigarette from Connor's hand. "Can't say the same for Greenly, though; you'd think he'd never spoken ta a girl before."

"Aye." Connor chuckled along with his brother, feeling better after a shower and several more cups of coffee. "She did better than I expected." Connor replied.

"We probably should've mentioned that they were cops ta her before we sprung that meeting on her, though."

Connor took a drag. "It didn't seem ta phase her too much."

"Aye." Murphy said, shoving his hands down into his coat pockets. "Christ, it's fuckin' freezing."

"So, what did ye do to get that girl inta yer bed last night, anyway?" He asked, pleased at the blush that as starting to creep up his brother's neck.

"Leave it." Connor replied, churlishly.

"Tell me." He elbowed his twin playfully. "Or I'll be forced to use my imagination."

"It's really not what yer thinkin'." Connor said, the blush now deepening across his cheeks. "I think I might've been a bit…" He paused, trying to find the word. "Emotional."

"Fuckin' Christ, Connor! Did ye cry?" Murphy asked, and when Connor refused to meet his eyes, he knew the answer. Slinging an arm over Connor's shoulders, he pulled his twin close. "Aw, _hermano,_ ye've got to let it go."

"I know. It just gets the better of me sometimes. Bein' at the bar with _her_ was too much. I see her and I can't help thinkin' of Roc." Connor sighed.

Trying to lighten his brother's mood, he said, "If he don't stop doin' that shite every time we go ta McGinty's, I'm not goin' ta fuckin' take ye anymore!"

"I'd like ta see ye try and stop me." Connor said, elbowing Murphy in the ribs for good measure.

"Fucker." Murphy said, good-naturedly.

"We're here." Connor announced, cutting off any further discussion.

They had arrived at the only place they ever did work related shopping, Cillian's warehouse. The nondescript building was located near the harbor. The shabby sign outside read _Emerald Isle Imports, _but Murphy was fairly sure the only Irish import inside was Cillian himself.

Cillian had been their black market connection since their first big hit on the Russian's. No one seemed to know much about him. The only definite information the twins had gleaned was that he had arrived in Boston in 1995 and set up shop. Overnight, he had become the go-to guy for the "off the boat" Irish in Boston. It was rumored that he brokered arms deals for the IRA before coming to the U.S. His accent marked him as hailing from Cork originally, but he had brushed off Murphy's repeated attempts to verify that.

Murphy was still trying to convince Connor that their next tattoo should be the motto on Cillian's wall: _While the wicked stand confounded, Call me, With thy saints surrounded._

"Hey, boyos!" Cillian called, looking up from the gun he was cleaning. "I've got your special request out back. Follow me."

Murphy looked longingly into the caged room full of weapons as they passed by, but a sharp tug on his arm from Connor brought him back to the task at hand.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'." He muttered, pulling a face at Connor's back. "Narky fuckin' bastard."

When they exited into the alley behind Cillian's warehouse, they saw two cars parked there. Neither of them was much to look at: dark colored, four-door sedans.

"Christ Connor, what did ye tell him ta get us?" Murphy asked. He had been hoping for something fast and tough, appropriate for a 28 year old male, not these fuckin' senior citizen grocery-getters.

"Murphy, try to let this bit of information creep inta yer brain." Connor said, tapping him on the forehead. "We are goin' ta work. When we work, we _try_ ta be inconspicuous. It's very, very difficult to be inconspicuous in a red convertible."

"Aw, fuck you. We could've been _inconspicuous," _the word was dripping with sarcasm._ "_in something a little more sporty. We're not fuckin' retirees, ye know?"

"Hey boyo, this isn't a fucking car dealership. Ye get what I can find." Cillian interrupted, eyeing them both with a mixture of distaste and exasperation. "Which one do ye fucking want? I've got other shite to do."

Murphy saw Connor stiffen at Cillian's tone, and moved towards his brother and put a hand on his shoulder.

Cillian was discreet, and, since their first visit so long ago, he'd never failed to find something they had needed. Connor was willing to let a lot slide from Cillian, but Murphy knew that he had pushed his already tense brother too far.

"_Calmati._" Murphy whispered, hoping Connor would remember just how much they needed the man, instead of teaching him an ill-provoked lesson about respect. "_Ne vale non la pena_."

Eventually, reason won out and he felt Connor relax.

"We'll take which ever one has a better fuckin' radio." Connor said finally.

Cillian pointed to the black Chevy Lumina, and nodded. "There ye go."

Grinning at Connor, Murphy put both hands on the Lumina and said, "Wax on, wax off."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed! It gives me motiviation to keep on posting! Also, thanks to Aranatta for the advice. It's much appreciated. Finally, thanks to GL for her tireless work betaing my stuff. (Trust me people, it's a tough job!)

Gaelic: Ri taobh thu / behind you

**Chapter 10**

"Well, it seems simple enough." Luciana said, smiling brightly at her new boss.

"Nothing to it, so long as you don't have a hard time staying awake until two AM." Ramon replied, salting a fresh batch of popcorn. "If you feel up to it, you can fly solo tomorrow night."

"Big plans?" She asked, before ducking below the counter to restock the Twizzlers.

"Marguerite's sister said she'd keep the girls, if we wanted to have a night on the town." He began wiping down the counter. "It's our anniversary."

"Congratulations!" She said warmly. "How long?"

"Eight years. I still can't believe it. Time flies." He said. "What about you? Ever been married? Any kids?"

Luciana paused, her back towards Ramon, struggling to formulate an answer.

No one had asked her these types of questions, not since she lost the baby. That wound had just begun to scab over and the question stung like someone had just emptied a salt shaker over it.

Finding her voice, she answered him shakily. "I lost a baby last year." Taking a deep breath, she added, "Never been married, though."

Ramon patted her back sympathetically. "Not to worry. You're young yet. Plenty of time for all that."

"I guess so." She nodded, still not turning to face him. "I'm going to give the ladies room a once over."

Reaching the bathroom, she pushed open the door and checked to make sure she was alone. Satisfied she had some privacy, she let out a ragged sigh that threatened to turn into a sob.

Ramon's question had hit her like a bowling ball in the chest: unexpected and extremely painful.

She placed a hand on either side of the sink and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her twenty four year old reflection stared back at her. _I look 25, _she thought, _but I feel like I'm one hundred and five some days. _

Finding her resolve, she splashed some water on her face and proceeded to wipe down the counter and refill the paper towels. By the time she headed back into the lobby, she was feeling marginally better.

The sight that greeted her when she came out brought a genuine smile to her face.

Murphy was sitting on the concessions counter, gesticulating wildly, while Ramon and Connor looked at him with equal parts amusement and exasperation.

"What's your brother going on about?" She asked, coming to stand next to Connor and nodding at Murphy.

Connor grinned at her. "Murphy is trying to convince us…" he nodded toward Ramon.

"For about the hundredth time." Interjected Ramon, also grinning.

"That Harrison Ford's best role was Han Solo." Connor finished.

"And what do you prefer?" She asked, getting drawn into their debated against her better judgment.

"Indiana Jones, of course." He said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"For fuck's sake, Connor. We all know you just like his whip." Murphy said, and he had to jump off the counter to avoid the blow his brother aimed at his head.

"I thought he was really good in _Sabrina._" She commented. Their howls of protest and the barrage of popcorn that pelted her, told her they didn't agree.

Backpedaling out of their reach, she held up both hands, crying out in mock terror. "_Blade Runner_! He was awesome in _Blade Runner_!"

"Nicely done." Connor said, giving her an appreciative nod. "_Blade Runner_ will buy you a temporary reprieve."

"A reprieve from what?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

It was Ramon who answered. "From having to stay here until close. Go on home, you three. I'll close up."

"Thanks, Ramon! What time should I be here tomorrow?"

"Come in about 5. You boys make sure she gets home okay tomorrow. You know what this neighborhood is like."

Murphy gave Ramon a salute and the three of them headed out into the chilly Boston night.

---

Vic Tibolla sipped his third cup of coffee and glared around the station house. He had been in Boston less than a week and he was having no luck finding Luciana.

_When I get my hands on that cheating whore, she'll wish was never born _he thought, his fist clenching in frustration.

The Boston PD had been no help whatsoever. When he found the detectives who had worked her brother's case, he thought he was on the right track. They had been friendly enough to him, but they had no information on any associates of Della Rocco's that he could use.

At least they said they had no information. If there was one thing Vic knew how to do, after 10 years as a cop (not to mention 5 years of working with the mob), it was how to spot a liar. He had been lied to by some of the best, so when Detective Dollapopaskalious had told him that Della Rocco didn't have any known living associates, Vic had seen right through him.

According to the good detective, most of the guy's friends had been killed during the vigilante attacks on the Yakavetta family. All in all, the "Saints" had killed 45 members of the Yakavetta family and another 15 members of other families. Vic couldn't believe that three guys had been responsible for the largest mafia killing spree in history.

Vic let the lie stand and thanked Dolly for his help. Then he had gone straight to the captain and asked if he could use the offices for a home base for a few days while he looked for his missing fiancé. He figured if he hung around for a few days and asked enough questions, someone would slip up.

He had gotten no where. Detective Duffy had parroted everything Dolly had already told him, and the other detective that had worked the case, Greenly, had transferred to Vice after the Yakavetta trial and was now in another precinct.

Vic decided it was time to try another route.

Walking up to the pair of desks that made up Dolly and Duffy's stations, Vic said, "Well boys, it doesn't look like I'm going to find her in Boston after all. Hopefully, she'll change her mind and come back to Youngstown."

Dolly stood, and held out a hand. "We'll keep our ears open. If anything turns up, we'll give you a call."

Vic shook his hand then Duffy's. "Thanks. I'd really appreciate it." Looking down at the ground, he added, "I love that woman."

"She'll turn up, you mark my words." Duffy said, but his voice didn't match his words.

Vic headed for the station door, smiling to himself. He hadn't missed the relieved glance the two detectives had exchanged when he said he was leaving. They definitely knew something about Luciana that they weren't telling him.

It was time for a new plan.

---

Luciana's first day alone at the theatre was going well. Ramon had stayed with her until the seven o'clock show was started, then she had shooed him off to his anniversary dinner. He had worried about leaving her, but she assured him that she would be fine and even if she weren't Murphy and Connor were coming in for the midnight show.

She started the projector for the ten o'clock movie with no problem, then returned to the concession stand to clean up and prepare for the midnight movie.

Ramon didn't expect she'd have too much of a crowd since he was playing a double feature: The Three Stooges Disorder in the Court and Jerk of All Trades.

The request had come from a group of retired transit workers who came every other month for a flick. There were only about eight of them who came regularly. Ramon figured she might have ten more people at most.

The theatre was an old style movie house, with a stage in front of the screen and high ceilings decorated with ornate trim. The paint was peeling and the red carpet was shabby and stained but there was still a hint of the grandeur the place must have held in the forties when it was new.

Ramon had closed the outer ticket booth years ago; now tickets were purchased right at the concession stand along with the traditional movie staples of candy, popcorn and sodas.

By the time Murphy arrived _sans_ Connor, she was feeling ridiculously please with herself. She'd had no problems with the ten o'clock group, other than a minor incident involving a spilled diet coke, and she was enjoying herself.

"Welcome to the Paradise!" She said, in her best flight attendant voice. "How may I help you this evening?"

"Well, aren't ye the fuckin' professional?" He grinned at her, dropping five dollars on the counter. "I'd like one ticket for the stooges and a coke."

"Just one ticket?" She inquired, grabbing a large cup off the stack and setting it under the fountain. "Where's Connor?"

She turned back, handing him the full coke and laughing when he pulled a flask out of his pocket and poured a liberal amount of an unknown amber liquid into it..

"Slainte." He said, raising his glass and taking a long drink. "He's doing some last minute research for our trip. He should be along later."

"Ah yes, your mysterious trip." She leaned her elbows on the counter and put her chin in her hands. "You ready to tell me where your going yet?"

"That's a Negative, Ghost Rider." He said, dropping his accent as he was wont to do when quoting movies. "The pattern is full."

"You are a dork."

"What's a dork gotta do to get some free popcorn?" He said, a boyish smile splitting his face.

"Well, you could check the men's room for me." She batted her eyelashes at him for effect. "Make sure there are paper towels."

"You drive a hard bargain. I'm going to need something in return.."

"And what might that be?" She asked, eyebrows raised.

"Extra butter."

"Done." She held out her hand and they shook on it.

----

Luciana hummed to herself as she cleaned up the popcorn machine. There was an hour left of the midnight movie and she was right on schedule. If everything went according to plan she'd be ready to leave twenty minutes after the movie ended.

_Thank God _she thought _Because I'm exhausted. _She wasn't used to being up until the wee hours of the morning.

She jumped as she heard the outer door clang shut. Figuring it was Connor, she turned preparing to lecture him on being late. Instead, she saw three men enter the lobby. As they walked towards the counter, she felt a pang of unease.

The men were young, mid-twenties at the oldest. Their clothes, a combination of dirty jeans and flannels, were unkempt, as if getting dressed had been an afterthought.

The center man with the shaved head walked ahead of the other men; clearly this was the ringleader. His two companions were glancing around suspiciously, eyes wide. One of them had a scar that ran along the length of his face and the other had a suspect bulge in his pocket. All three of the men had a hollow, pinched look that was accentuated by the dark circles under their eyes. The looked like trouble.

_Junkies_, she realized, swallowing hard. She recognized the symptoms from her years of working the graveyard shift at the diner. Just the way these guys were carrying themselves screamed "I need a fix".

"Can I help you?" She called, unsure what else to do. As the one in the middle came forward, she noticed that his hand was shaking slightly as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck.

"Where's the manager?" The skinhead asked her, his eyes darting around the lobby.

"I guess that would be me, tonight." She said.

His gaunt face suddenly shifted, a malicious smile curving on his lips.

Then he moved.

Before she had a chance to react or even call out, he had slid over the counter.

There was a knife in his right hand and his left was on the back of her neck, pushing her face into the glass top of the concession counter. Scarface had moved to stand with his back to the outer doors, while the third man pulled a rough looking pistol from his pocket, staying in the middle of the lobby.

She wanted to scream but the knife, pressing against the soft flesh of her throat, told her that might not be such a smart idea. Adrenaline flooded her veins and she struggled to keep from shaking.

As she struggled to remain outwardly calm, the man spoke.

"If you scream, you die. Now, open the fucking register." There was an eager tone to his voice, and she moved to obey.

His hand tightened painfully on her neck. "Slowly."

"Hurry the fuck up, Jay." The guy with the gun hissed. "There's a room full of people watching a fucking movie on the other side of the door."

Still holding her down, the ringleader called to Scarface. "Go see what you can find in the office."

The man walked around the counter and opened the black windowless door that led to Ramon's office.

Responding to the increased pressure on her neck, Luciana righted herself and moved towards the register, her entire being focused on the tip of the blade that was now digging into her back.

Just as they reached the register, she heard the theatre door swing open. She looked up to see Murphy, an empty popcorn tub in his hand.

Her eyes met his and she saw a flicker of panic in them after his hand reached into his coat then fell back to his side, empty.

The two men recovered from the surprise of being interrupted and the barrel of the gun came to rest, pointing at Murphy.

"Don't fucking move." The thug at her back said to Murphy. "If you move, we'll kill the bitch."

---

When Muphy had opened the door to the lobby, it had only taken him a split second to grasp the situation. He saw the gun swivel towards him and the knife digging in to Luciana's neck.

She was looking at him, her eyes wide with fear. His hand went for his gun automatically, only to come away empty. His gun was at home, shoved in the black duffle bag that had been thrown carelessly under the bed.

_Fuck, Fuck, FUCK! _He always carried his gun. _Always_.

When Da first left, he and Connor had been vigilant, never leaving the house unarmed. But as the days passed, they had grown complacent. After a week of no one shooting at them, they had started carrying the guns at night and eventually forgetting them altogether. It had been too easy to slip back into their pre-Saint lives.

_Now, I'm going to fucking reap it._

The guy with the knife at Luciana's back spoke.

"Don't fucking move. If you move, we'll kill the bitch."

The muscles in Murphy's jaw clenched as he looked for a way out of the situation. If he moved for the gun, Luciana was as good as dead, but if he went for the skinhead, he'd probably get them both shot.

_Where in the fuck is Connor when I need him? _Murphy thought, desperation fueling his anger. He and Connor were a team, had always been a team. Murphy couldn't recall the last time he had faced danger without his brother's familiar presence on his left side. Now, here he was, alone, unarmed and out of ideas.

Just as he was gearing himself up to do something drastic, he looked up and saw his twin through the outer doors. As Connor's eyes met his, Murphy felt a wave of relief sweep over him. He forced his muscles to relax and he readied himself to move the instant the thugs attention shifted to Connor.

Right on cue, his twin burst through the doors, and reached the guy with the gun before the man had a chance to whirl around and face him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Connor's elbow connect with the man's temple, but he didn't pause to see the results.

Murphy was already in motion, vaulting the counter before Luciana's captor realized he was coming. Releasing Luciana, who scrambled as far away as she could, the man lunged at Murphy with the knife.

Murphy ducked under the blade and drove his shoulder into the man's ribcage. The force of his blow knocked the man off balance and as he stumbled backward the knife grazed the side of Murphy's face.

Feeling the blood begin to trickle down his cheek, Murphy took a step forward and his fist met the man's nose, which seemed to crumble. The man dropped like a stone, blood pouring from his shattered nose, and Murphy turned to see how Connor was faring when Luciana screamed.

"_Ri taobh thu_!" He heard Connor call, and he dropped to one knee, trusting his brother unconditionally as always. As he ducked, he brought is fist up hard, catching a third man in the stomach. The man paused and, before Murphy could press the advantage, Connor was there. His brother hit the man once, then again before the man wavered and fell, unconscious before he hit the floor.

---

Luciana watched Murphy, hoping against hope, that he would be able to magic them out of this situation. The look on his face wasn't giving her much hope.

Then, suddenly, something was different.

His shoulders dropped and he unclenched his fists. While his body appeared to be relaxing, his face was doing something else entirely. His eyes had hardened and there was no evidence of the MacManus she knew anymore. She was looking at a dangerous man.

Before she had a chance to process what she was seeing, the outer door burst open and a blur that appeared to be Connor was upon the man with the gun in seconds.

Abruptly, the pressure was off of her neck and she pushed herself into the corner. She raised her eyes in time to see the knife carve the skin of Murphy's cheek and then the skinhead was on the floor in front of her, blood from his nose pooling around his face.

She tore her eyes away from the man's body and saw the third man burst out of Ramon's office. She screamed and heard Connor shout something and Murphy dropped to the floor, his fist landing squarely in the man's abdomen.

Another blur of movement brought Connor behind the counter and she didn't, couldn't look away as he beat the man into unconsciousness.

Then, as quickly as it had started, the violence ended. Connor pulled Murphy roughly to his feet and held his brother's face in his hands, inspecting the cut that was still dripping blood.

After a moment, Murphy pushed Connor off and tilted his head in her direction.

Two sets of familiar blue eyes were now pointing in her direction. She could see the concern in their faces but as Connor started towards her, she flinched, trying to push herself farther into the corner.

In the back of her mind, she recognized the hurt that flashed across both of their faces, but the images of fists and blood were still dancing in front of her eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Cedar Junction is a maximum security prison in Mass.**

**Thanks to my badass reviewers! Much Love! Also, thanks to St. Stephen's and, of course, GoddessLaughs, for the brainstormin' and betain'! **

**As always, read and review...concrit most welcome!**

**Chapter 11**

As Connor reached out a hand toward her, Luciana, eyes widening in terror, flinched away from him. Her reaction to him struck him like a fist to the gut. The look in her eyes reminded Connor of the look she got when she spoke of Vic. He wanted to go to her and make her understand that he and Murphy weren't like Vic. They would never hurt her. Unfortunately, that was going to have to wait.

They had a theatre full of people who would, very shortly, be streaming through the lobby on their way home. They also had three very bloody and very unconscious men lying on the lobby floor. That combination could prove explosive it something wasn't done quickly.

The logical part of his brain kicking into overdrive, he turned away from Luciana, who was still sitting on the floor, and looked at his twin. Murphy met his gaze unflinchingly, and Connor saw his resolve reflected in his brother's face. His message was clear.

_This disaster first, then Luciana._

"Let's get Ramon down here." Connor said, glancing around at the bodies and blood that now decorated the lobby. "And Duffy."

Murphy nodded brusquely and headed back into the office. After a moment, he heard his twin's voice drifting through the door, explaining the situation to someone on the other end of the line.

Hopping back over the counter, Connor grabbed the gunman by both arms and pulled him around the counter, dumping the man unceremoniously on the office floor. After pausing for a moment to listen to Murphy impress upon someone to hurry, he repeated the maneuver with the other two thugs. After rummaging in the utility closet he found a roll of duct tape, which he used to restrain the three junkies.

As he was finishing up with the third man, Murphy hung up the phone and Connor shot him a questioning glance.

"Ramon is on his way in." Murphy said, as he offered Connor and hand, pulling him to his feet. "He should be here before the movie lets out."

"And Duffy?"

"He and Dolly will be here in twenty minutes." Murphy replied. "He said they should be able to keep us out of it."

Connor let out a relieved sigh. "Well, let's see if we can't find something to hold your fuckin' cheek closed until we get home. Yer bleedin' all over yerself."

"I'm fuckin' fine." Murphy said and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go check on Luciana. I think she's in worse shape than me."

When they came out of the office, Connor was surprised to see Luciana standing, her back to them, wiping something up off the counter.

"Are ye alright?" He asked her.

She jumped at the sound of his voice, but didn't turn around.

"All right?" Her voice seemed to come from far away. "I suppose so."

"Duffy and Dolly are on their way." Murphy said. "Ramon is coming in, too."

She nodded in acknowledgement and continued wiping down the counter. It was not lost on either twin that she had yet to look either of them.

_We aren't fucking monsters_ Connor thought, hoping it was true.

Murphy, concern softening his voice, asked, "Why don't ye sit down?"

"Need to clean up this-" she gestured towards the counter. "This blood."

"Let Murph and I take care of that. Come sit down."

When she didn't respond, Connor cocked an eyebrow at his brother. Murphy's eyes widened in response and he shrugged his shoulders.

Connor was struggling to come up with something else to say to Luciana, when the outer door swung open and Greenly walked in. His halfway untucked shirt and mismatched shoes made Connor chuckle in spite of himself.

"Yer lookin' lovely this evening, Detective." Murphy said, clearly thinking along the same lines. The look Greenly shot them made it perfectly clear where he thought they should go.

"What the fuck's going on?" He asked glancing around. "Duffy called and told me to get my ass over here ASAP."

"Had a spot of trouble with some junkies." Connor explained. "Why'd they call you?"

"Probably because I only live a few blocks away." Greenly's eyes settled on Luciana, who was still wiping the counter automatically, oblivious to the conversation going on around her. "What can I do?"

Connor waved Greenly over. In a whisper, he said, "We can take care of things here until the cavalry arrives, but Luciana," His eyes flicked over towards her and Greenly's followed. "Isn't taking it so well. The assholes threatened her. Knife at her throat, the whole bit."

He didn't add anything about the fear that had shone in her eyes when she had looked at Murphy and himself.

"Can ye take her back to yer place?" Murphy asked, wiping at the blood that was slowly continuing down his cheek. "Conn and I'll come get her when we get this fuckin' mess cleaned up."

Greenly expression was priceless. He looked over at Luciana, his eyes widening. He opened and shut his mouth several times, but nothing came out.

Murphy slapped him on the shoulder and shoved him in Luciana's direction.

Connor and Murphy watched in reserved silence as Greenly approached Luciana, speaking to her in a low voice. He couldn't hear what Greenly said, but it seemed to bring Luciana back to the present.

She looked at Greenly for a long moment before nodding her head.

As she walked around the counter to meet Greenly at the door, she paused in front of them. Her eyes flicked briefly to his face and then Murphy's, before dropping down to her hands, which were clasped in front of her.

"Tell Ramon I'm sorry about the mess." She said softly.

"Are ye-" Murphy began, moving towards her.

Connor grabbed his brother's wrist before Murphy's hand reached her arm. "Aye, we'll tell him. We'll be over ta Greenly's for ye shortly." He said, cutting off his twin's words.

She nodded absently and headed towards Greenly, who was waiting at the door.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Murphy rounded on him. "How could ye just let her go like that?"

"Are ye fucking blind?" Connor retorted. "She can't even look at us, for Chrissakes. We need to give her some space."

Murphy looked like he was ready to fire off a nasty retort when the outer door burst open yet again.

Duffy and Dolly came in looking only slightly more put together than Greenly had when he arrived. Dolly's normally slicked back hair was in disarray and Duffy's horrible orange tie was hanging loosely around his neck.

"Did we just see Greenly pulling away?" Dolly asked, looking around the nearly empty lobby. His eyes came to rest on the fresh blood drying on the carpet. He elbowed Duffy, pointing.

"That ye did." Murphy said, raising a hand in greeting, which neither detective noticed.

"So are you boys going to stand there fuckin' gawking all night or do you want to deal with the bastards we have taped up in the office?" Connor asked.

---

"Go on, boys." Duffy said, gesturing towards the door. "Get outta here before the uniforms show up."

"Thanks guys." Murphy said, proffering a hand which Duffy shook.

"We really appreciate it." Connor said, extending his hand to Dolly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Dolly said, grinning. "Get the fuck out of here."

So they went.

As they headed in the direction Duffy had said Greenly's apartment was, Murphy reflected on just how lucky they had been that night. If Connor hadn't showed up when he did…If they hadn't been able to get in touch with Dolly and Duffy…If someone had wandered out of the theatre at the wrong moment…

_Too many fucking 'If's'_.

He groped around in his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter. Finally locating both, he pulled out two cigarettes, lit them simultaneously with the ease of long habit and handed one to Connor.

Connor took a long drag and, as if he were reading Murphy's mind, said, "That was too fuckin' close."

"Aye. It was." Running a hand through his dark hair, Murphy asked, "When did we get so fuckin' careless?"

"Dunno. Never again, though." Connor said, in a shaky voice. Murphy felt his brother's hand squeeze the back of his neck, as though Connor were trying to reassure himself that his twin was okay.

"Never again." He agreed.

They walked the next two blocks in silence. Murphy was still rolling the 'ifs' around in his head, when he realized where they were. The stone facade of the church loomed overhead, welcoming despite its cold exterior.

Reaching out, he caught Connor by the elbow. "Let's go in."

"Murph, we need to get Luciana." Connor sighed. "It's late. We can come tomorrow."

Refusing to be dissuaded, Murphy shook his head. "We'll just be a minute."

Murphy knew that Connor needed this as much as he did. Prayer had always been a calming influence in their turbulent lives. When they were boys, their mother claimed that the only time they were still was in church. When they had first come to the United States, prayer had eased their homesickness. When they finished a hit, talking to God eased the burden of guilt that accompanied the taking of human lives, even evil ones.

Now, a friend, someone they cared for, had seen them as they were and shied away in horror. They had known that people would judge their actions and they had deliberately kept the circle of people who knew them as Saints small. No one who knew was a true innocent, until Luciana. She had seen and she was terrified. That burden was weighing heavily on Murphy's soul and he could feel the tension pouring from his twin, as well.

They needed this. He met Connor's eyes, and, after a short battle of wills that played out in silent stillness, they entered the church.

---

Luciana sat on the ugly floral couch and sipped the beer that Greenly had apologetically given her.

"It's this or water." He had said, blushing slightly. "I, uh, need to go shopping."

The cramped apartment was the definition of a bachelor pad. Mismatched furniture, that appeared to have once belonged to someone's grandmother, was placed haphazardly around the tiny living room. A few dog-eared posters had been taped to the walls, in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the peeling paint.

Two of the posters were so stereotypical that she had to smile; _Platoon _had made the cut, as had _Pulp Fiction_. The third poster was the one that caught her interest. It was a shot of Bob Marley, dreadlocks flying, singing his heart out. Definitely not what one would expect from a twenty-something cop that was as straight-laced as Greenly appeared to be. She made a mental note to ask him about that particular choice later.

Greenly was banging around in his cramped galley kitchen attempting to make popcorn. For some reason, he thought he needed to feed her dinner, even though it was almost three in the morning. And apparently the only thing he had in the house that he felt able to serve her was popcorn.

She didn't have the heart to tell him she had eaten popcorn for dinner at the theatre.

The poor guy had been so nervous when they got to his apartment. She had politely pretended not to notice the Playboy magazine he had grabbed off the couch under the pretext of clearing her off a spot, his face resembling a ripe tomato. In her efforts to put him at ease, she had almost forgotten why she was there. Now, sitting in the empty living room, it came rushing back to her like a fist to the face.

She had known from the beginning who the MacManus brothers were and what they did. They were vigilantes, killers, Saints. Titles didn't matter when it was just an abstract idea. When the reality of it hit her in the face along with droplets of her would-be assailant's blood, it had been more than she was ready to face.

The hard look in Murphy's eyes before they had commenced with the ass-kicking had been disturbingly familiar. She had seen that look in Vic's eyes, and it had never been accompanied by anything good. She had learned pain and suffering at Vic's hands when he had that look. She couldn't seem to reconcile the playful, sensitive, movie-quoting Connor and Murphy with the hard, deadly efficient men she had seen in the theatre.

The 'pop, pop, pop' sound coming from the kitchen caused her to jump. Taking another sip of her beer, she noticed a smattering of tiny red dots on her hands and arms. The realization of what those drops were made her stomach turn. Standing quickly, she headed to the kitchen.

"Can I use your bathroom?" She asked him, trying not to grimace as the smell of burnt popcorn assailed her nose.

"Uh, yeah, just, uh, hang on a sec." The words came out in a rush and he headed down the hall. She heard the banging of cupboard doors and then he was back. "It's just, uh, down there." He said, gesturing weakly towards the end of the hall.

She turned the hot water knob on and waited for the telltale wisps of steam to rise from the faucet. Grabbing the bar of soap from the counter, she worked it into a lather and began scrubbing her hands and arms. As she worked, she wondered how many times she had stood in front of the sink watching crimson-tinged water swirl down the drain. _Too many times, _she thought and plunged her hands under the steaming hot water.

By the time she finished, the combination of scalding water and scrubbing had taken its toll, turning her hands an angry shade of red. She looked around the bathroom in search of a towel, but settled for wiping her dripping hands on her jeans when she spotted the only towel in sight wadded up on the floor.

When she walked back into the living room, she saw Greenly sitting on the couch looking sheepish.

"I ruined the popcorn." He said. "Do you want me to order a pizza or something?"

"No thanks. I'm really not hungry at all." Trying to stifle a yawn, she added, "I'm more tired than anything."

"That happens sometimes. All the adrenaline hypes you up, but after the action your body kind of crashes." Greenly said. "You'll feel better after you've had some sleep."

She nodded, taking another swallow of beer.

"Are you hurt at all?" he asked, after a moment.

"I'm fine." She said tersely. Then, realizing how harsh she had sounded, she added, "They were just so _scary_."

"Well, you don't have anything to worry about now." He said, smiling. "They should be enjoying an all expense paid trip to Cedar Junction for the next few years."

It took a minute for his words to sink in, but when they did, she chuckled. "Not the junkies. Don't get me wrong, I was scared to death when that creep pulled a knife on me. But I was talking about Connor and Murphy."

Greenly's eyes widened in understanding. "Yeah, they can be pretty intense." He paused, taking a long swig from his beer. "What they do is necessary and important, but there is something _otherworldly_ about them when they are working."

"So you've seen them in action?" She asked, curiosity aroused.

"When they pulled the hit on Papa Joe, we, that is Duffy, Dolly and I, helped them. It took the three of us and Smecker to get them into the courthouse undetected." Greenly sat up a little straighter as he spoke, his pride showing.

"I know what you mean though, about them being scary." He gave an involuntary shudder. "It's their eyes. When they are on a mission, I would hate to be in their way.

Don't let it freak you out. There aren't a lot of people in their lives that know about what they do. They need all the support they can get."

Luciana was surprised to hear the concern in his voice, and, choosing not to respond to what he had said, she asked, "Greenly, what's your first name?"

He looked taken aback by her question. The ever-present blush put in another appearance on his cheeks as he said, "Brian. Why?"

"Well, Brian." She said, "I don't like calling my friends by their last names."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: St. Brendan the Navigator is an Irish saint, the patron of boatmen, travelers.**

**Chiseller is Irish slang for young child, baby**

**Psalms 68:2 As smoke is driven away, so drive them away. As wax melts before the fire, so let the wicked perish at the presence of God.**

**Thanks to Goddess Laughs for allowing me to borrow her MacGuyver reference and for Ice, Ice Beta.**

**Also, thanks to the people who have taken the time to review! I appreciate it!**

CHAPTER 12

Without opening his eyes, Connor sensed his twin rising from his knees and leaning forward, placing his lips briefly on the feet of the carved wooden crucifix suspended before them. Murphy's hand brushed his shoulder affectionately as he went to sit in the first pew to wait.

His brother told him more in that light touch than most people could convey in an entire conversation. He felt the stillness in Murphy's soul that was always present when in church, and the relief that they were both safe, despite their earlier carelessness.

After a few more moments of silent reflection, he rose and turned towards his brother. "Candles?" He asked.

"Aye." Murphy replied, tucking his carved wooden rosary back into his shirt and rising to meet his twin.

Connor followed suite and they walked over to the array of votive candles flickering in the semi-darkness of the sanctuary.

Connor selected a candle and lit it. He offered up a prayer that had been repeated many times since he and Murphy had started on their chosen path. The significance of the words were increased a thousand-fold in the face of the trip that they were preparing to take.

_Saint Brendan, lead us on a straight and true course so that our journey may lead us and the souls we dispatch always towards God._

Lighting his candle, Murphy intoned, "As wax melts before the fire, let the wicked perish before God."

Connor smiled; Murphy did love the Psalms. Choosing another candle, he leaned forward and lit the wick.

"For Luciana."

He saw Murphy nod in agreement and cross himself.

Connor slapped his brother on the shoulder, feeling both grateful and annoyed. It seemed Murphy always knew what was best for him, whether he liked it or not.

As if sensing his thoughts, Murphy said, "Feelin' better?"

"Don't gloat, ye arse." Connor replied, noting the smug grin that was threatening to overwhelm his brother's attempt at seriousness. "It's unbecoming."

"Look at this face!" Murphy said, a wide smile now brightening his features. "Nothing I do is unbecoming."

"Yer so modest, yer makin' me blush." He retorted, adding, "Fuckin' eejit."

Making their way out into the frigid night air, the twins made the rest of the journey in amiable silence. Connor's thoughts straying from Luciana to the trip they were preparing to take. He was beginning to feel the first real traces of excitement, wanting to be back in action with Murphy by his side. The night's activities proved to be both a cautionary tale of preparedness and the spark that fired his desire to return to their mission.

Connor realized Murphy was humming, so he listened intently, trying to catch a few bars of the tune. After a beat, he smiled, shaking his head. Murphy's thoughts were apparently traveling along similar lines.

_On the road again, I just can't wait to get on the road again._

After a moment, he slung an arm over Murphy's shoulders and belted out, "Like a band of gypsies, we go down the highway."

Murphy laughed and they continued on with the chorus.

Two blocks later, they were standing in front of a rather shabby looking apartment building. Stepping into the lobby, Connor walked over to the intercom and pressed the button next to the listing for Unit 32, B. Greenly.

"Yeah?" Greenly's voice crackled over the speaker.

"It's yer two favorite fuckin' leprechauns." Murphy said, his accent so thick that he sounded like an actor in a B movie. "Can we come up?"

Their only response was the buzzer as the door was unlocked.

They made their way over to the elevator, and Connor pressed three. As they rose toward Greenly's floor, the tension that evaporated in the church began to snake its way back into Connor's gut. He dreaded looking into Luciana's eyes and seeing terror or disgust reflected there. He looked over and saw Murphy biting at his thumbnail distractedly.

Stepping off the elevator onto the third floor, Connor followed the sign pointing towards apartments 30 – 38. As they neared apartment 32, the unmistakable beat of reggae music came seeping out from the slightly ajar door.

Connor raised an eyebrow at his brother. "Are we sure it was apartment 32?"

"Yeah, Mon." Murphy said, adopting a ridiculous Jamaican accent. "Dis be da place."

Murphy began to sway back and forth, waving his arms in the air. Connor shook his head, grateful once again that he had inherited the rhythm in the family.

Nudging the door open with the toe of his boot, Connor heard Greenly say, "And I've been hooked on reggae ever since." Luciana's warm laugh followed the words.

_Laughter is good, _he thought and stepped into the living room.

Luciana and Greenly looked up and Connor felt a wave of relief to see them both smiling.

"Greenly, what the fuck?" Connor asked, casting a wary eye around the apartment. "We were expecting to find a bunch of fuckin' Rastafarians in here."

Greenly grinned at him and then at Murphy, who was still engaged in his pathetic dance attempt, turning in a slow circle, arms waving and hips shaking. "So, how did it go?"

"Well enough." Murphy called, over his shoulder. Abandoning his dance in favor of the kitchen, he was headed toward Greenly's fridge, no doubt in search of a beer.

"Make yourself at home." Greenly called after him, sarcastically.

"Grab me one, too." Connor called after his brother, before turning to answer Greenly. "Dolly and Duffy got everything squared away for us and Ramon came in to close up the theatre."

"How on earth are they going to explain away the extremely beat up junkies?" Luciana asked, managing to look skeptical and nervous all at the same time.

"Well, Ramon was helped out by three good Samaritans who came out of the theatre at just the right time." Connor smiled, quite pleased with the story. "Two Puerto Ricans and a white guy, I believe it was."

"Aye. It's a shame they took off before they could be properly thanked by Boston's finest." Murphy added, returning from the kitchen and handing Connor a beer.

"I can't believe it." Luciana said, looking incredulous. "Wrapped up so nice and tied with a bow. Won't people start to wonder when the creeps claim it was two Irish boys and a girl behind the counter?"

Connor opened his mouth to answer, but Greenly beat him to it.

"Naw, those three were higher than kites when they came into the theatre. They wouldn't have noticed if Barney were standing behind the counter selling balloon animals." He smiled. "At least, that's what the official statement will say, I'm sure."

"Got it in one." Connor said, nodding his head.

Taking a long drink from the beer bottle Murphy handed him, Connor turned to Luciana. "Are ye alright?"

She held his gaze for a long moment, before dropping her eyes. "A little shaken up, but I'm not hurt. Can't say the same for your brother, though." Turning to Murphy, she said, "You look awful."

"Boy, you sure know how to stroke a guy's ego." Murphy said, assuming a wounded expression.

Connor followed her gaze to Murphy's face. The cut was still oozing slightly and the dried blood smeared across his cheek did nothing to improve matters.

Murphy suddenly realized that there were three sets of concerned eyes pointed at his face. Rolling his eyes, he said, "Listen ye three, I'm fuckin' fine! It's a fuckin' scratch."

"Just the same, we should get ye home and cleaned up." Connor said, standing and draining his beer. "Christ himself only knows what kind of infection ye could get from that knife."

Greenly and Luciana also stood, the top of her head barely reaching his chin. She looked up into his face and Connor watched the interplay between them with interest.

"Brian," Luciana began.

Connor heard Murphy choke on his beer. He met his brother eye and tried hard not to give in to the laughter that was threatening to burst out. Neither of them had known Greenly's first name until that moment.

Luciana ignored them and continued, "Thanks for everything. I really appreciate it."

She stood on tiptoe and gave Greenly a kiss on the cheek.

Greenly muttered something inaudible and turned a bright shade of crimson. Connor grabbed Murphy, who was almost as red as Greenly from trying not to laugh, and propelled him out the door. Luciana followed Murphy out, rolling her eyes.

"Thanks for everything, _Brian._" Connor said, extending a hand.

"Fuck you." Greenly said, ignoring Connor's hand and looking pointedly at the door.

Chuckling to himself, Connor left Greenly in peace. He couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief as he entered the hall. That had gone much better than he had expected.

Luciana seemed mostly recovered from the terror that had gripped her in the theatre, and it looked like she and Greenly would get along just fine while he and Murphy were away.

Connor fervently hoped that the next few days would pass without incident so he and Murphy could get on the road.

---

On the walk back to the apartment, Luciana caught herself humming "No Woman, No Cry."

The absurdity of the situation was not lost on her. If someone had come up to her a month ago and told her that she'd find herself strolling through South Boston at four in the morning after just being assaulted, with two vigilante Irish twins, while humming a Bob Marley tune, she would have assumed they were either high or crazy.

And yet, here she was.

When she realized that Connor was humming along with her and Murphy was singing the lyrics under his breath, she just couldn't help herself.

It started with a giggle. Then, like an avalanche, it began to gather momentum. As she continued to laugh, tears threatened to fall. She gasped for breath and clutched at the stitch in her side.

Leaning against the nearest light post, she looked up and saw Connor and Murphy looking at her quizzically. Their puzzled expressions provoked another spate of laughter.

"What in the fuck are ye on about, woman?" Murphy demanded. "Are ye drunk?"

"Yeah, just how many beers did Greenly give you?" Connor inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Recovering herself, she retorted, "Not enough to make the pair of you sound even remotely in key! Bob Marley must be rolling in his grave."

"Are ye sayin' ye don't like me brother's dulcet tones?" Connor said, conveniently ignoring the fact that she had insulted both of them.

Before she could reply, Connor started singing and doing a horrible impression of Murphy's dance from before.

She was almost able to maintain a straight face.

Almost.

Murphy was doing his best to look offended but even he wasn't immune to how ridiculous Connor looked and sounded at that moment. Before his twin reached the chorus, Murphy had joined her, snickering appreciatively.

"Fuck off, ye retard." Murphy said, between chuckles. "At least I can whistle!"

It was Luciana's turn to look puzzled. "Are you telling me you can't whistle?" She asked Connor.

"It's not that I can't." He said, defensively. "I choose not to."

Murphy laughed uproariously at this pronouncement. Recovering himself, he said, "Me brother cannot fuckin' whistle. That's why we never had a dog growin' up. Ma said he'd never be able to call it."

Connor delivered a well aimed but deliberately soft punch to Murphy's kidney. Murphy turned preparing to do battle, but Luciana cut him off.

"Come on, you two. I'll end up with frostbite if I have to wait out a MacManus brawl." She said, rubbing her arms to warm them up. Noticing the fresh rivulets of blood snaking down Murphy's cheek, she added. "Besides, all that laughing broke open the cut on Murphy's face."

She linked an arm through each of theirs and began walking in the direction of the apartment, pulling them along. She smiled slightly then pursed her lips, beginning to whistle. Connor groaned, but Murphy caught her tune and joined in. The reggae melody accompanied them all the way back to the apartment.

--

"Try to keep still." Luciana said, leaning over Murphy's upturned face. "This might sting."

"Oh, I think I can handle it." He said, in a patronizing voice, which she chose to overlook.

He certainly seemed able to handle it. He and Connor had proved to be more than competent at everything she had seen them attempt in their few short weeks together. They were charming, funny, smart and, most pressing in her mind, deadly.

She opened the bottle of rubbing alcohol and prepared to drizzle it over his cheek. Originally, Connor had intended to nurse his brother but when she saw what his idea of cleaning up was, she put her foot down.

"Dish soap and a wash rag are not 'just what we need.'" She had exclaimed when Connor had stated his intentions.

Digging around under the bathroom sink, she had turned up some rubbing alcohol and some Neosporin. She had sent her silent thanks to their Da; at least there was one MacManus out there with some common sense.

When she began to pour, some of Murphy's tough guy attitude seemed to desert him. He let out a soft grunt and sqeezed his eyes shut.

"Stop being such a fuckin' chiseller!" Connor said, punching Murphy in the arm. "She could be using a fuckin' iron."

"Don't remind me!" Murphy called after his brother, who had plopped himself down in the living room. The only response from the living room was the MacGuyver theme song blaring out of the TV.

"I'm not even going to ask what that whole iron thing is about." She said, continuing to pour alcohol onto the cut and shaking her head in exasperation.

Feeling she had done all she could to clean the wound, Luciana grabbed the towel from the table and pressed it over the gash in Murphy's face. His eyes flew open and, when she looked into them, she shivered.

Now that she was no longer oblivious to it, the aura of danger that clung to the twins seemed to hover in the background: intangible, yet very real.

It was like trying to find the big dipper in the night sky or your baby's fingers and toes on an ultrasound. At first glance, you don't see anything out of the ordinary, but once it's brought into stark relief you had a hard time seeing anything else.

The MacManus brothers she had grown attached to were still there, but now she was seeing the entire picture clearly. The darker side that was the counter balance of the light. This more dangerous aspect seemed to complete each of their souls like they completed each other. Each was necessary for the other to flourish.

It was both beautiful and terrifying.

She didn't know whether to run towards it or away.

As if reading her thoughts, Murphy touched the hand that she was holding to his cheek.

"This is what we do, Connor and I." He said softly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Ye've no need to fear it."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

His eyes closed and, after she was sure her hands were steady, she began applying the Neosporin to his face.

She was just finishing taping a piece of gauze into place when Connor wandered back into the kitchen. He stopped to look over her handiwork and nodded his approval.

"Ye done good." He said and kissed the top of her head. "I'm goin' to fuckin' bed."

"Best idea ye've ever fuckin' had, mi hermano." Murphy said, before giving in to a huge yawn. He looked at her questioningly. "Ye comin'?"

"I'm going to finish up down here before I turn in." She smiled. "I don't want to clean up blood while I'm having my coffee."

"Want some help?" He said, giving her a searching look.

"Go to bed!" She said, giving him a nudge towards the door. "It'll only take me a minute."

"Suit yerself." He said. then touching his cheek, he added. "Thanks for this."

"Murphy, you wouldn't even have had that mark if you weren't looking out for me, so thank you." Then, realizing Connor was still standing in the doorway, she added, "Both of you." Before either of them could say anything in reply, she put her hands on her hips and pointed down the hall. "Bed, now."

"Yes Ma'am!" They chorused; Connor throwing her a mocking salute.

As soon as she heard the bedroom door shut, she collapsed on the kitchen chair. Giving in to the physical and emotional exhaustion of the day, she put her crossed her arms on the table, put her head down, and let the tears come.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N**: Thanks to GoddessLaughs for nursing me through the writer's block and for Chef Boy-are-MacManus! Also, to the other BDS writers out there, thanks for the inspiration this week, when my muse abandoned me! And, of course, the reviewers...y'all rock!

Italian: _fica_ / cunt

_Goomba_ / term of affection or respect

13

Punching his pillow into a ball, Connor tried again to get comfortable. His back was aching from the evening's altercation and he was too keyed up to sleep. In the hour since they came to bed, he had tried every method he knew to fall asleep, even the old childhood standby, to no avail.

It was one of the little secrets that belonged entirely to Connor, this trick to fall asleep. He shared everything with Murphy: a job, a faith, a calling, an apartment, everything. So, when it came to pass that he had some little thing to call his own, he clung to it. This was the first bit of himself that he could recall hiding from his twin.

Murphy never had a hard time sleeping, his snores coming moments after the lights were turned off. He on the other hand, would spend the nights tossing and turning, never quite able to surrender to sleep. After catching him awake for a week straight, Ma had sat on the edge of his bed, concern shining in her eyes.

"Connor, me lad, ye know the sheep that old man MacGregeor keeps out on the edge of town?"

Connor thought of the ewes with their wooly black coats and the dogs that guarded them, Shep and Sam. He and Murphy loved those dogs, looking for any excuse that would take them by the farm. Many a pair of pants had been ruined when Murphy would drop to his knees in the mud to receive the affectionate greeting they always offered. He nodded at her, not understanding where she was headed, but trusting her in the unconditional way that children do.

"Well, ye get ahold o' those sheep in yer mind and ye picture them jumping over the stone fence around the pasture. As they jump over, ye need to count 'em. I bet that ye won't even get ta one hundred afore ye're fast asleep." She smiled down at him, and ruffled his hair. "Will ye try for yer old ma?

He had nodded solemnly at her, before closing his eyes. A short time later, he had counted a hundred sheep and was no closer to sleep. Listening to his brother snoring softly in the little bed across the room, Connor began to count again. Instead of sheep, he counted the quiet exhalations of his brother.

Normal people counted sheep. Connor counted Murphy's breaths.

Growing up, this trick had served him well and when they had begun their work as Saints, it had taken on a whole new significance. Connor would lay awake listening, and counting, assuring himself with each quiet snuffle that they were still alive.

On this particular night, however, not even the familiar rhythm of his twin's breathing was working. Finally, after counting to one hundred twice, he resigned himself to wakefulness and silently rose from the bed. Padding down the hallway, he noticed the kitchen light was still on.

Reaching the doorway, he saw that Luciana wasn't having trouble finding dreamland. She was sprawled on the kitchen table, her hair fanned about around her head. Looking closer, he noticed the red blotches on her face. She had been crying again. This lifestyle of theirs was taking a toll on her.

Watching her, he wondered what Rocco would have thought about her being here. Considering Roc had never mentioned her, Connor could only assume that this probably wasn't how he had envisioned her future. Then again, Roc probably hadn't envisioned her life in Youngstown how it was either.

The more time Connor spent with her, the more he wanted her to stay. It was like having his family whole again. She could never replace Roc, no one could, but she filled a void. Her laugh came easily, just like Roc's had, and their smile's were the same. He and Murphy needed that, and the reassurance that came from being with someone who could care for you, despite the violence and death that was a part of them.

At the table, Luciana's hand twitched, the movement dragging him out of his reverie. Connor shook his head. Clearly, he was in desperate need of some rest. In his present state he was as sentimental as a teenage girl.

He approached the table and gave Luciana a gentle shake. She twitched again but showed no signs of waking. Well, he couldn't just leave her sleeping at the table.

He bent low and slid an arm under the crook of her knee, while the other went around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. In one swift motion, he stood transferring her weight into his arms and her head onto his shoulder. He heard her mumble something indistinct before relaxing against him.

As he settled her into bed, he couldn't help but smile. She was a heavy sleeper; yet another trait she shared with Roc. He and Murphy had often found themselves in Roc's company after a night of drinking, and, when they would be rattling around in the morning, Roc would snore on totally oblivious to the noises around him. Connor pulled the threadbare comforter up to her chin and smoothed the hair away from her face.

Always the older brother, he reflected, no matter what Murphy said to the contrary. He had been tucking Murphy in for as long as he could remember. It seemed natural to add another body to the rotation.

He leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on Luciana's forehead. Now that the children were nestled all snug in their beds, he was going to watch some TV. Maybe the combination of Bushmills and Star Trek would do what breath counting would not.

"Beam me to the living room, Mr. Scott."

---

"Listen, for your own good, quit worrying about finding the stupid _fica_ and get your ass back here pronto." Foreman said, his voice sounding muffled, no doubt because he was speaking around one of the knockoff Cuban cigars he so loved to chew into a pulp, in an attempt to emulate Carmine Profetti, the _Capo di tutti capi_ of their family.

"Carmine will understand." Vic said, confidence dripping from every syllable. "I'm sure if you just talk to him for me…"

Forman cut him off. "No way, VickyBoy. This came straight from Bert. Carmine's got some work and he wants you to come in."

Vic flinched at the nickname, but refrained from correcting Foreman. No one called him VickyBoy except Carmine.

The last Capo who got cute and addressed Vic in that manner had spent seven weeks in traction; he still didn't have the feeling back in his face. Everyone got quite a kick out of watching him try to drink out of a straw these days.

Foreman got away with the nickname only because he had been with Vic from the beginning and then only when he was safely out of Vic's immediate reach.

Anthony "Foreman" Strega was Vic's oldest friend. They had risen through the ranks together, running numbers for Anthony's dad when they were still in grade school. They had come a long way since then; Vic was one of Carmine's most trusted confidantes and Foreman had finally been made a _Capo_.

"Fuck." Vic said, slightly deflated. "Tell Carmine I'll be back tomorrow. I'll catch the red eye out in the morning."

"You do that, _Goomba_." Foreman said, relief creeping into his attempt at nonchalance.

The sounds of yelling and breaking glass suddenly came crackling through the phone from Foreman's end. Vic's mind was already jumping to conclusions when he heard Foreman swearing in Italian. After a moment, he got back on the phone, sighing resignedly.

"God, those fuckin' kids." He said, not bothering to hide his exasperation.

"Which one was it and what did they do?" Vic asked, amused.

"Apparently, AJ and little Tony thought it would be a good idea to use the dog for a football." Foreman gave a long-suffering sigh. "Antonia caught them and threw a plate at AJ. She's such a sweet young lady."

Foreman was so called because he had named all three of his kids after himself _a la_ George Foreman: Anthony Junior or AJ, Antonia, and Tony. Vic figured with an ego like that, he was getting what he deserved from the three hellions.

"She takes after her old man." Vic said, and snapped his cell phone shut. He didn't have time to listen to Foreman go on yet another hour-long lament about his disappointing brats.

The wind kicked up and Vic watched the leaves swirl around the tombstones, frustration threatening to overwhelm him.

He had spent the last four days ensconced in his rented Impala. It had taken visits to eight of Boston's cemeteries before he had discovered David Della Rocco's final resting place. The flowers leaning against the grave marker were just beginning to lose their petals. He didn't need his detective's badge to figure out that Luciana had been there recently.

The sentimental bitch would be back he knew. She'd always had a soft spot for her loser of a brother and, if he waited long enough, it would be her undoing.

_Or it would have been, if I didn't have to go back to work_, he thought sullenly.

Vic punched the steering wheel in frustration. When was something going to go his fucking way for a change? Then, as if by divine intervention (and Vic crossed himself, just in case), the groundskeeper cruised past the Impala in his golf cart.

Lips curving in a smile that didn't reach his cold eyes, Vic put the car in drive and followed the groundskeeper's cart to the maintenance shed, situated in the back corner of the cemetery property.

Exiting the car, Vic got a closer look at the groundskeeper. A kid, barely into his twenties with acne scars marking his cheeks, was giving him a rather surly look.

"Can I help you?" The kid asked, the tone of his voice suggesting he'd rather be buried alive in one of the graves he tended than offer any assistance, which Vic graciously chose to ignore.

"I hope so." He said, sliding a hand into his pocket. "I'm looking for someone."

"Check up at the front office." The kid said, turning his back to Vic and continuing to unload equipment from the cart. "They have maps showing whose plot is where."

Vic pulled his hand out of his pocket, making a show of removing the thick stack of bills from his money clip. "The lady I am looking for is very much alive." He pulled several bills out of the stack, replacing the rest in his pocket. "She comes here to visit her brother, God rest his soul, and I really need to get in touch with her."

Suddenly the kid was all smiles, his full attention on Vic.

"What is it I can do for you then, sir?"

"Well, since you ask, when she comes here again, I'd like for you to call me."

"That's it?" The kid asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Not exactly." Vic said, putting four hundred bucks into the kid's open palm and an arm around his shoulder. "Listen close because this is very, very important."

---

Luciana floated gently towards consciousness, buoyed by the delicious aroma that had drifted in underneath her door.

She opened her eyes, momentarily confused as to where she was. A quick glance told her she was in her own bed, in her own room, in an apartment that she was beginning to consider home. She couldn't recollect how she ended up there, but she was sleepy and warm and couldn't bring herself to care. No doubt some bit of MacManus magic had taken care of getting her to bed, like they seemed to take care of everything else.

The light was streaming into the bedroom despite the grime that coated the outside of the window. Rolling over, she eyed the alarm clock dubiously; one in the afternoon already. She stretched and yawned, enjoying the peaceful feeling that had followed her from slumber into wakefulness.

She took a deep breath, trying to detect what could possibly smell so good in _this_ apartment. Neither twin had shown much inclination towards domestic activities, and yet she was sure she could smell cinnamon rolls.

_I must be dreaming. I'm dreaming and I'm very hungry._

A knock on the bedroom door quickly disabused her of the notion.

"Come in." She said not moving from her comfortable spot in bed.

Murphy's grinning face appeared from behind the door. "Top 'o the mornin'!" He said in his thickest Irish accent, making the phrase sound ridiculous.

"Aren't you chipper this morning?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "How's your face? Does it hurt?"

"A bit." He said, his fingers picking at the tape holding the gauze in place over his wounded cheek.

"Yeah well, it's killing me." She said, her grin widening to match his.

"Hardy-har-har." He stepped into the room and waved a cup of coffee in front of her tantalizingly. "I came all the way here to offer ye a cuppa and see if ye'd join us for a bun, but after that I think ye can get your own coffee."

She giggled and he responded by turning on his heel and stomping back towards the kitchen.

Luciana stretched again and kicked the blankets off. The chilly air was an effective goad to get her moving. She realized she was still wearing the previous evenings clothes. She pulled the sweater off and grabbed a black turtleneck that she had purloined from Connor's wardrobe after doing laundry. It came almost to her knees and she cursed the family genetics that had made her so short.

Pushing the sleeves up past her elbows, she headed to the kitchen to see what kind of mischief they had gotten into.

When she saw Connor sitting at the table with icing all around his mouth and Murphy sporting a milk moustache, she just shook her head. It was amazing that less than twelve hours ago, they were a deadly whirl of fists and flying blood and now they looked like a couple of 10 year olds who found the freshly baked cookies they weren't supposed to see.

She looked around the kitchen and assumed a severe tone. "Where is she?"

Two sets of blue eyes widened in her direction. After a beat, Connor swallowed a mouthful of pastry and asked, "Who?"

"The woman, no make that the goddess, who came in here and baked cinnamon rolls and bought actual milk. I thought the only beverages allowed in this joint were beer and coffee."

"Don't forget whiskey!" Murphy said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"I'll have ye know that I have been up for over an hour, slaving away over a hot stove, to make breakfast for ye and me ungrateful brother," Connor shook his head and looked wounded. "And ye mock me! For that, ye can't have any extra icing."

"I find it hard to believe that there is any icing left over, considering how much of it is on your face."

He had the good grace to blush as he swiped a hand across his mouth. Instead of cleaning the icing off his hand, he ran his fingers around this plate adding more his already frosted hand then he reached across the table and slapped his brother across the face, transferring the icing to Murphy's cheek. "Thanks for telling me, ye fucking retard."

Murphy ran a finger down his cheek, making a track through the icing. Holding the finger up to Luciana, he crooked it at her and said. "I've got yer extra icing right here, sweetheart."

"Swoon." She replied in a deadpan voice, rolling her eyes, which set Connor to laughing. Murphy ignored her and proceeded to suck the frosting from his finger.

She walked over to the counter and looked at the pan that still held four cinnamon rolls. She touched the top of the stove, and sure enough, it was warm to the touch.

"Do ye believe the nerve she's got, Murph?" Connor said, watching her. "She doesn't believe I can cook."

"He made 'em from scratch." Murphy said, coming to Connor's defense. "Used Ma's old recipe and everything."

She saw the amused glance Connor shot Murphy, but she didn't comment on it. She grabbed a plate from the cupboard and picked out a nice, gooey roll from the pan.

She joined them at the table and looked down at her plate, not moving to take a bite.

"What's the matter?" Connor asked.

"Well, I don't have any health insurance." She smiled at his puzzled expression, and continued. "So, I'm wondering if I should risk the potential food poisoning and try this."

Connor spluttered behind a mouthful of roll and attempted to grab her plate. Grabbing a fork, she jabbed at his hand. "I'm kidding! Kidding!"

Two sets of laughing blue eyes watched her cut into the bun and bring the fork to her lips. Her eyes widened as she tasted it. The spicy tang of the cinnamon combined with the sugary sweet icing was the perfect combination. She couldn't believe it. It was…delicious.

"I humbly apologize." She said to Connor. "You can make me breakfast anytime you want."

"Don't get used ta it. Tis hard work, baking is."

Murphy gave a chuckle then a grunt. He reached a hand under the table, rubbing vigorously at his shin.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was that yer leg?" Connor asked innocently, not fooling anyone.

"Fuck you, Chef Boy-are-MacManus!" Murphy said, springing to his feet.

Wiping the remaining icing off his face, he slammed his hand down onto Connor's head and gleefully rubbed the icing into his hair. He was rewarded with a shoulder to the chest, as Connor stood up and tackled him.

Luciana scooted her chair away from the melee, taking her plate with her. The boys rolled on the floor, fists and curses flying freely. She contemplated intervening until they rolled into the garbage can, spilling its contents onto the floor. The remains of a cardboard tube rolled into her foot. Picking it up, she saw the Pilsbury Dough Boy waving jauntily at her, standing next to a strikingly familiar looking cinnamon roll.

"Lying Bastards!" She said, under her breath. She avoided the writhing mound of MacManus on the floor and made her way to the kitchen sink. She turned on the water and pulled the sprayer out as far as it would go.

Giving a rather self-satisfied smile, she pulled the trigger.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** The hugest thanks ever must be given to my butt-kickin' beta, GoddessLaughs. The marathon brainstorming sessions should be paying off in just a few chapters. Also, thanks to everyone who has ever taken the time to review. When I hit the brick wall that is writer's block, you're kind or constructive words help push me along!

This is the longest chapter to date...enjoy! And as always, please review.

**14**

Luciana finished wiping down the kitchen counter, and spun in a slow circle surveying her work. She had spent the last hour cleaning up the kitchen and living room, and the results were definitely an improvement. A little bleach and a lot of elbow grease had given new hope to the kitchen, which no longer resembled the losing side of a high school cafeteria food fight.

She had been less successful in her battle with the living room, however. No amount scrubbing could improve the dingy furniture and dismal paint job, but at least it was clean, if unattractive.

While cleaning had been productive, it was not her objective for the day. She had gone into see Ramon about her first week's paycheck and now she had two hundred and fifty dollars burning the proverbial hole in her pocket. She had rushed home from the theatre intent on bullying a MacManus into taking her shopping, only to find the apartment deserted.

After checking all the usual spots - fridge, counter, bathroom mirror, her pillow - for a note and not finding one, she had flung herself onto the couch in a huff. She was ridiculously disappointed; after all, she could always shop tomorrow, but she had been surviving on her few meager items of clothing and MacManus hand-me-downs for longer than any woman should have to.

While she was lying there pouting and wishing she had grabbed the remote before becoming horizontal, Luciana couldn't help but notice what an absolute pigsty the apartment was.

One of her _duties_ in Vic's home was keeping the entire house spotless. He didn't tolerate any type dirt in his home (himself not withstanding, she though ironically). Dust on the mantle would send him into a rage. He'd cracked one of her ribs for the grievous infraction of water spots on the bathroom mirror.

Connor and Murphy, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy living in filth or they were, at the very least, oblivious to it. She had been enjoying not having any domestic responsibility foisted upon her, but today she determined that she was not a slob by nature.

She lay on the couch, in the stillness of the empty apartment, for as long as she could stand. Finally, her need for cleanliness overcame her desire to distance herself from all things Vic and she bolted off the couch, headed to the kitchen and rummaged under the sink looking for some type of cleaning supplies.

Coming up empty handed, Luciana cursed her own stupidity. Why did she think that two men who barely managed to bathe on a regular basis would own anything that resembled a cleaning supply? Finally, she remembered the bleach from her trip to the laundry mat. With that and a sink full of piping hot water, she had attacked the kitchen with enthusiasm.

Just as she was debating on whether or not to tackle to bathroom, she heard keys jangling in the lock.

Connor came barreling into the apartment, coming to an abrupt halt as he glanced around the living room in surprise. Murphy, who was balancing a canister of coffee on top of a case of Guinness, didn't notice his brother was no longer moving toward the kitchen and smacked into his back, sending the coffee can clattering across the floor.

"Get the fuck outta the way, Conn!" Murphy said, abandoning the coffee and pushing past his brother towards the kitchen. Thunking the beer onto the countertop, he took a look around the kitchen and then looked to her and Connor. "What the hell happened in here?"

Before she could answer, Connor sniffed the air. "Did ye…clean?" He said, his voice rising with incredulity.

"Yes." She replied, crossing her arms. "I cleaned. Why is that so shocking?"

"It's not shocking." Murphy said, running a finger along the counter.

"It's fucking wonderful!" Connor finished for him. As he headed into the kitchen, he dropped a kiss on her curls, a gesture that she had come to associate with taller MacManus.

The twins were both physically affectionate, especially with each other; always ready with playful punch on the arm or a fond ruffling of the hair. Every shift in emotion was accompanied by some sort of contact.

She had also noticed it when they were around the boys at McGinty's or Ramon at the theatre. They were always ready with a handshake and a smile, eliciting a similar response in return.

And, while Murphy was still somewhat reserved around her, only tossing an arm over her shoulders when he forgot himself, she had stopped being surprised at the easy closeness that was Connor's trademark.

There was something reassuring in the undemanding contact, a feeling that had been missing from her life from too long. It was how she remembered life with Rocco before circumstances had put hundreds of miles between them. The simple affection that signified family. Each touch chipped away at her reserve, filling the void left by her brother's death and the violence she had suffered at Vic's hands.

In the week since the incident at the theatre, the three of them had fallen into a comfortable routine, finding each other's boundaries and learning to live together. The boys had broken one of the cardinal, if unspoken, rules: leaving without a note. She was preparing to pounce on them for this slight and for delaying her shopping trip, when Murphy beat her to it.

"Sorry we took off on ye." He said, looking rather sheepish. "We were out of supplies."

"Beer and coffee caused you to rush out so quick you didn't have time to jot down a note?"

The mix of scorn and incredulity in her voice had the desired effect on Murphy, who now looked like a puppy that just had its nose smacked with a rolled up newspaper.

"Actually, it was an emergency." Connor said, opening the brown paper bag he had carried in and dumping three cartons of cigarettes onto the counter. "We were outta smokes."

"There is no way that took you over an hour!" She said accusingly, her eyes bouncing from one guilty looking twin to the other.

Murphy cracked first. "They didn't have any Guinness at the store so we had-OW!" The last bit was caused by Connor's elbow connecting hard with his ribs.

"Ye fuckin' wanker! We had a plan." Connor rolled his eyes and shook his head in dismay. "All ye had to do was stick ta the fuckin' plan."

Luciana did her very best to keep the glare from slipping off her face. If she had the boys on their heels, she had a much better chance of convincing them that they should take her shopping. She cleared her throat, which was a clear invitation for Connor to continue.

"We stopped down ta the pub. Doc sold us a fuckin' case."

"And a few beers before you came home too, I'll wager." She said, allowing herself a satisfied smile when he nodded his assent.

"So what kind of shite do we have ta do ta make it up to ye?" Murphy asked, not looking too thrilled about what her answer might be. No doubt the smell of bleach was forcing him to think the worst…more cleaning.

Luciana gave them both her most evil grin. "Well, since you ask…"

--- -

His hands working as his mind wandered, Cillian cleaned and oiled the pistol that lay before him on the table. As he polished the metal to a gleaming shine, he thought about the client that he was expecting to see today.

In the last year, Connor and Murphy MacManus had become two of his most frequent customers. They would occasionally come in looking for a new gun or most recently a car, but as often as not they brought him merchandise to be used as credit on their account. Guns, jewelry, watches, credit cards, even the occasional passport all made their way to Emerald Isle Imports all courtesy of the brothers MacManus.

He never asked any questions about why they needed his unique services, but he was no fool. He couldn't miss the headlines in the papers that always seemed to correspond with a visit from the twins.

At first, Cillian hadn't put it all together. That massive hit on the Russians had been all over the news, but never in a million years did he think the two jokers who had been in his shop that morning had ought to do with it. It wasn't until after the hit on the Yakavetta boss that he realized what he was dealing with.

The descriptions in the paper had made his blood run cold: Three men, Irish accents, black turtlenecks and coats. Cillian knew those men; he had sold them the guns they used to gun down a man in a fucking federal courthouse.

Suddenly the puzzle pieces snapped together forming a very clear and very alarming picture in Cillian's mind.

When he had first come to the States, he had made some very precise plans in case he ever needed to leave the country in a hurry. Arrangements with a shady cargo company down at the harbor (the very same company that had transported Liam MacManus back to Ireland, as a matter of fact) and a small villa just outside of Rio de Janeiro were ready for him come the day of his retirement, forced or voluntary. When Cillian got out of the business, he intended to get all the way out.

The day of Papa Joe's death he ran a very thorough systems check, just in case.

As the weeks passed and no federal agents came bursting through his door, he began to relax. When the MacManus brothers came to call again, he didn't even bat an eye. As much as Murphy annoyed him – a loose cannon, if he'd ever fucking seen one – and Connor disturbed him – he has the coldest eyes – Cillian was a professional. He never let on that he knew they were the notorious Saints and they never gave him further cause to worry.

Cillian slid the gun into leather case and reached for its twin to begin the process again. These guns had to be one of the strangest requests he'd ever had. People came to him when they needed something vitally important that no one else could get, not, as was the case with the two firearms before him, for gifts.

However, when Connor MacManus had shown up with his hair-brained request, Cillian hadn't dared to say no.

The request, although very odd, had been simple enough. Connor wanted two .45 caliber Colt Model 1911 handguns, stainless steel, with black grips. That, in itself, was not unusual. It was what he asked next that made Cillian cock an eyebrow in skeptical astonishment.

"Ye want me to what?" He had asked the taller MacManus incredulously.

"Ye heard me. Aequitas and Vertias. Can ye do it or not?" Connor had replied with utter seriousness.

Cillian nodded his head. As with so many things, he knew a guy who knew a guy. "I'll take care of it, but it'll take a few weeks."

"I don't care what it fuckin' costs." Connor had said. "But I need them in a week."

Cillian remembered the look in Connor's eyes when he had gotten narky with Murphy over the car, and he gave a quick nod. "Done."

As he finished polishing the Colt, he fervently hoped that it met Connor's expectations. He did not want to be responsible for ruining Murphy MacManus' birthday gift.

--- -

Watching Murphy from across the crowded department store, Luciana couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy.

It had been quite a trick, convincing him to take her shopping in the first place. Her original plan had been to drag them both along on her expedition, but Connor had begged off, claiming he had a prior appointment with someone called Cillian and rushed out the door. Murphy's loud curses had followed him halfway down the block.

Murphy had tried very, very hard to get out of his predicament, but, when she got sick of listening to him and threatened to go alone without the first clue as to how to get around Boston unaided, his sense of chivalry had won out and he had grudgingly agreed to escort her.

Duty may have convinced him to go, but he was not at all happy about being manipulated into a trip to the mall. Not one bit.

All the way there, he complained. He bitched while she got ready. He complained on the subway. He pouted when they arrived. He seemed intent on letting her know, in no uncertain terms, that he did not want to be shopping anywhere other than the convenience store on the corner that sold whiskey, beer and cigarettes.

Since he was acting like a child, Luciana decided to use an appropriate counter measure.

"I'll make you a deal." She said, whirling to face him, after he had let out his fifth disgruntled sigh since they had entered the mall. "If you shut up and let me shop, we can go to McGinty's when were done."

"Where do ye think I'm fuckin' goin' after this?" He snorted. "I'll have ta do somethin' ta recover from this shite."

Then she said the magic words. "Yes, but if you attempt to be civil, or at the very least silent, while we're here, the drinks are on me."

He cocked an eyebrow at her, before giving another sigh. This one was less peeved and more resigned in nature.

"All right, woman. Let's make this fuckin' ordeal go as quickly as fuckin' possible."

"You know what, Murphy? I have a name. One day maybe you'll remember to use it." She snapped, then looking at the plethora of stores that were waiting to take her money she perked up. Linking her arm through his, she'd asked. "Where should we go first?"

"The fuckin' bar." He had muttered under his breath, which she deliberately ignored.

Now, as she browsed through the sale racks trying to make the most of her paycheck, she felt a twinge of guilt watching the blush spread up Murphy's face. Things had been going swimmingly (if dragging a petulant MacManus through a crowded shopping mall could be referred to as going swimmingly), until they arrived at her favorite clothing chain and Murphy decided to talk.

He had attracted more than a few sidelong glances before that. With the combination of the brooding expression plastered across his face and his uniform of jeans, black turtleneck and black coat, he absolutely oozed "Bad Boy". He was currently trying unsuccessfully to look inconspicuous, leaning against the wall next to a rack of coats.

When he opened his mouth and that damned Irish accent reached the ears of the girls that stood between them, she knew he was done for.

Although she would die before admitting it, listening to the twins talk could make her weak in the knees. If it still had that effect on her after seeing them at their worst, she could only imagine what kind of a swathe he could cut through these unsuspecting females if he chose.

Unfortunately for Murphy, the gaggle of sixteen year old cheerleaders decided to cut a swathe through each other to get to him.

As soon as he called out to her, "Are ye done yet? Ye've been at this for a fuckin' hour already!" she saw the heads snap in his direction. Elbows dug into sides and whispers were exchanged in the rapid fire manner of girls talking about boys.

Murphy seemed unaware of the attention suddenly being paid to him, but it didn't last long. Suddenly the girls became very interested in the winter coats despite the fact that they all seemed to have coats stuffed under their arms. The boldest of the group tried on a coat and twirled around in front of Murphy, her blonde ponytail flaring out behind her.

"So what do you think?" The girl asked Murphy, her voice a mockery of every sultry purr she had ever heard on television. "Does it _become_ me?"

Murphy sputtered and reddened, her intent not lost on him, while her friends giggled.

Who would have thought that the key to rattle the unflappable Murphy MacManus was a pack of teenage girls?

"Lovely." Was all he managed to spit out, before he pushed past her and the rest of the cheerleading squad, and made his way over to where Luciana stood grinning. When Murphy saw the smirk on her face, he offered her an irritated, "Fuck you."

She tried to smooth her features into a blank mask, she really did, but when she saw the almost fearful look he cast over his shoulder she just couldn't help herself and burst out laughing.

Suave, slick Murphy MacManus had found his kryptonite. In the face of danger he was calm and decisive, but confronted with some rather determined high school girls, he fell apart.

Taking pity on him, she grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the dressing room.

Entering the empty fitting rooms, she sat Murphy down in the chair in front of the tri-fold mirrors.

"Let me try this stuff on and we can get out of here, okay?" She said, laughter hiding just behind her words.

"Just hurry the fuck up." He sighed and reached into his pocket for his lighter, which he began flicking open and shut. "I need a fucking smoke."

She had just pulled an ill-fitting purple sweater over her head when she heard some commotion outside of the stall. The telltale giggles alerted her that the teenagers had discovered Murphy's hiding spot.

Luciana heard someone young and female asking Murphy if he had the time but his muttered response was unintelligible. She cracked the door open and peeked out. Murphy was biting determinedly at his thumb and looking anywhere but at the girl who was now asking him where he was from.

He looked up and spotted her watching him. He gave her a look that made it clear she would be paying for this later.

"Honey, can you come zip me up?" She called sweetly. Murphy jumped to his feet, heading her way while the girls rolled their eyes and gave up on the posturing.

Murphy pushed her out of the way and shut the dressing room door. He leaned against it and gave her a filthy look. "I'm not going back out there."

"So you don't like 'em young?" She teased.

"Young?!? They weren't even old enough ta fuckin' drive!" He shot back indignantly. "Are ye almost fuckin' done?"

"I've only got 2 more things to try on then we can leave this store." She said, grabbing his shoulder and turning him to face the wall. "Now turn around so I can change."

"I think the least you could do is let me watch." Murphy said over his shoulder, clearly recovering himself now that he was safely hidden from the Lolita wannabes.

"Keep dreaming." She said, laughing. "After this we only have one more stop and then you'll be up to your eyeballs in Guinness."

--- -

Murphy stopped and grabbed Luciana's arm. He had brought her to the mall, he put up with the pushy sales ladies and the obnoxious teenage girls, he had even schlepped her bags but he was sure as fuck not going into Victoria's Secret.

"No fuckin' way, no fuckin' how!" He said, shaking his head.

"Oh, don't be silly!" She said, looking at him like he had just sprouted a second head. "Do you really think I want your help picking out underwear? Sit on that bench and I'll be out in a jiff."

He sighed with relief and ignored her amused chuckle.

His eyes traveled over the scantily clad mannequins in the windows, and inspiration struck. Smiling, he called out. "Woman!"

She turned on her heel and gave him a very surly look, "Yeah?"

He pointed to the nearest mannequin which happened to be wearing some black lace contraption that appeared to be held together a ribbon and a prayer. "Ye should pick up one of those in red."

She gave the mannequin a once over, then turned and looked him up and down as well. After a thoughtful pause, she said, "No Murph. I think pink is more your color, but I doubt they'll have your size."

No response came immediately to mind, so he settled on a rude hand gesture, which served as nothing more than an impetus for further laughter. His irritation didn't last too long, however, when he remembered her offer. He hoped she didn't spend all her money because he was going to make her pay in Jack Daniels and Jim Beam.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N**: _Padrino_ means Godfather in Italian.

Also, thanks to goddesslaughs for the nudging, cajoling and general babying on this chapter! I needed it. Also, thanks for my new summary. It is so much better than what I had!!

Also, my reviewers, I adore you. Thanks for taking the extra minute to let me know what you think!!!

And welcome to SomniculusFaber…Thanks for comin' out!

**15**

Pushing open the door of the Mario's Ristorante, Vic's senses were assailed with the sights and smells of nostalgia. The restaurant was a fixture in the Italian neighborhood of Youngstown, and had been for decades.

Marriages, births, business dealings, first communions, even deaths were memorialized by gatherings in the back banquet room, while the front dining room served as display of who's who in the local Italian community.

Spotting Vic, Jimmy, the bartender, came out from behind the bar and greeted him with a handshake and a smile.

"Welcome back, Officer Tibolla." He said, taking Vic's coat. "Did you have a successful trip?"

"Not really, Jimmy." Vic replied, a note of smugness creeping into his voice. "But I laid some very important groundwork."

"Glad to hear it." Jimmy said, clueless as to what Vic was talking about, but glad nonetheless that he was in good spirits. "Mr. Profelli is entertaining in the back room, as usual."

As Vic crossed the crowded dining room, he smiled and exchanged pleasantries with several of the restaurant's other patrons. He waved hello to a high school football buddy and stopped to kiss the cheek of his Great Aunt's neighbor. It felt good to be back in his town and on his turf, especially after the fucking debacle that was his trip to Boston.

Reaching the door that led to the private dining room, Vic knocked twice and waited. After a long minute, the door eased open a crack and a familiar brown eye peered out at him. The door closed quickly and the sound of a chain rattling reached his ears before the door opened again, this time wide enough to admit him.

It was Foreman who opened the door, grinning broadly and clapping Vic on the back as he entered. "'Bout fucking time, _Goomba_."

Vic gave him a cool nod, annoyed as he always was with the casual familiarity that Forman loved to address him with, while his eyes traveled immediately to Carmine's usual spot in the back corner of the room.

Court was in session at Carmine's table, and Vic could tell at a glance that the usual players were still in favor. Umberto "Bert" Fiore, the underboss of the Profelli family, was in his traditional seat at the boss' right hand B.D. Cosenza, Carmine's nephew and heir apparent, sat on his left. Several of the other usual suspects occupied the surrounding chairs, all of them hanging on Carmine's every word.

Looking up, Carmine squinted in Vic's direction. As Vic moved towards him, his gravely voice cut through the din of the crowded room. "The prodigal son returns." Heads turned in Vic's direction at Carmine's words and whispers broke out at several of the tables. Apparently, his extended absence had not gone unnoticed.

Vic ignored the other men surrounding the table and walked immediately to Carmine's side, bending to kiss both of the older man's wizened cheeks.

Carmine Profelli gave an imperious flick of his wrist and there were the sounds of chairs sliding across the tile floor and the rustle of clothing as the other men quickly vacated the table, moving to other tables or to the bar to refill their drinks.

Vic took the empty seat at Carmine's right hand and accepted the glass of red wine that Carlo, the ancient bartender, brought over for him. Taking a long sip, Vic tried to gauge his boss' mood out of the corner of his eye.

He knew he had tested the limits of Carmine's indulgence by being away so long. With all the eyes in the room turned their way, Vic knew everyone else was waiting to see if he was still in the boss' good grace.

"Carmine, _Padrino_, I want to apologize," Was all Vic managed to say before the older man cut him off.

"Ah, Vickyboy." Carmine said, reaching over and patting his cheek affectionately. "I, too, was young once. Even the best of us can get our nose stuck so far up some woman's _fica _that we lose track of the rest of the world." He reached out with a fork and speared an olive. Popping it in his mouth, he said, "Don't let it happen again."

Vic let out a quiet sigh of relief and quietly changed the subject. "So, Foreman says you have work for me?"

As Carmine launched into the special assignment, Vic found his mind wandering. He was not done with this Luciana business and, sooner or later, he was going back to Boston to bring that bitch back. He just hoped that when the time came, Carmine would understand.

Sparked by something Carmine had just said, Vic's mind jumped back into the present. "The A.D.A.?" He asked, surprised at this turn of events. "Are you sure that's wise?"

The look that passed over Carmine's usually grandfatherly features, made Vic wish he'd kept his mouth firmly shut.

"As long as there are no _mistakes_," Vic felt his face flush at the tone in Carmine's voice as he spoke. "On your part, everything will be fine. Just don't fly off the handle and kill this one. That last time was a costly error."

Vic stifled a sigh, realizing that he would never live down the infamous _last time._

It was a standard collection run that ended with a rather bloody twist. The guy reached into his desk drawer ostensibly to get the money but instead retrieved a Dirty Harry style revolver, catching Vic unawares.

His brief moment of shock had been quickly overwhelmed by combination of self-preservation and outrage that this motherfucker thought he could actually pull a gun on him. He had reacted with a brutality that was usually reserved for busting nigger heads during drug raids or the privacy of his own home. He stepped inside the man's reach, knocked the gun aside as if it were a toy, and, wielding his own gun like a club, he beat the man to death.

The rush of pleasure Vic had felt as he stared down at the bloody pulp that had, until recently, been a man's face was short lived. The man had been into Carmine for over two hundred large and Vic knew that the loss of that money would not be well received.

In the end, Carmine had forgiven Vic's lapse in judgment. The man's body had been dumped in the projects and Vic had been on the receiving end of a strongly worded warning from his boss. There could have been more serious repercussions, but in a decidedly ironic twist the Chief of Police had assigned Vic and his partner to investigate the murder. The murder weapon had turned up in the apartment of a local drug dealer, who, it just so happened, didn't pay his dues to Carmine, and the whole incident had been taken care of, at least in the eyes of the law.

Even though he had been forgiven, he knew the incident would never be forgotten. Carmine would dangle it over his head anytime he thought it would prove useful to keep Vic in line.

Apparently this was one of those times.

So instead of asking the questions that were chasing themselves around his head (Was it smart to intimidate the Assistant District Attorney? What made Carmine so sure the man wouldn't talk?), Vic just listened as his boss detailed the plan of attack, putting his trust in Carmine, as he always had.

-- - --

As he felt the recoil vibrate up his arm, Connor couldn't help but smile. He loved the feeling of control that came with firing a gun, whether that occurred in the heat of battle or, like today, at the shooting range.

He and Murphy rarely visited the range, partly because they didn't want to draw unwanted attention to themselves and partly because they really didn't need the practice.

Deadly accuracy was a gift that they shared, like their natural affinity for languages, which had come unlooked for but was much appreciated. Using Da's old army revolver, they had learned to shoot as boys in the fields behind their Uncle Sibeal's house.

Connor had to empty the cylinder twice before he began hitting the target accurately in either the head or the heart. Those were the only two places worth hitting on a man, according to his uncle, and if you weren't willing to kill you shouldn't pull your gun out in the first place.

Murphy, who had been dying to learn to shoot and was therefore insanely jealous that his twin got to go first, watched Connor's every move. His astute gaze noting the way breathing and stance affected the bullet's trajectory. When his turn came, only the first two shots missed the mark, as he learned to gauge the tension in the trigger and the kick of the recoil.

Jolted from his memory when the clip emptied and the slide locked into place, Connor reached over and wheeled in his target, admiring the tight grouping of shots that lay between the ears of the shadow man.

Suddenly, he felt a burning sting against his cheek and snapped his head to see Murphy flicking recently fired shell casings towards his head and grinning like an idiot, behind a pair of oversized safety glasses and the huge earmuffs that the range rented out for hearing protection. The light reflecting off his brother's glasses forced an image of The Fly into his head and he started to chuckle when he noticed Murphy preparing to strike again.

Ducking another well-aimed casing, he slid his own earmuffs off. "Cut it out, ye fuckin' eejit!"

"What?" Murphy shouted back, tossing another casing at his twin and theatrically pointing towards his hearing protection. "I can't hear ye!"

Connor took two steps toward his brother and knocked the hearing protectors off his head with a nicely placed slap. "Is that better?"

"Fucker!" Murphy declared, shooting him an irritated look and rubbing his ear. "Ye just about ripped my fuckin' ear off."

"Cry me a fuckin' river, brother mine." Connor said as he pulled his target off the cable. "How'd ye shoot?"

"Better than ye did, I'll wager." Murphy replied, spinning the wheel that brought his target rushing up to where they stood.

Connor didn't doubt for a moment that what Murphy said was true. While they were very well matched, Murphy was a more accurate shot, a fact that Connor never ceased to marvel at. He was the patient twin, often described as logical and concise. Murphy, on the other hand, was a creature of emotion and movement. Somehow though, when you put a gun in his hand, he channeled the strengths that usually belonged to Connor and applied them with a vengeance, placing the bullets wherever he chose.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, the twins held their respective targets at arms length, inspecting them. After a long pause and careful examination, Connor elbowed Murphy and gave a triumphant shout.

"Losin' yer touch there, Murph?" He asked, pointing to a hole in the paper that was a full two inches away from the rest of Murphy's shots.

"Not fuckin' likely." Murphy said, and waved his gun in front of Connor's face. "It's this piece o' shite that's the problem. It's been dropped a time too many and the fuckin' trigger is startin' ta stick."

"There's nothing wrong with yer fuckin' gun, and ye know it. Ye just can't stand losin' to yer elder brother." Connor replied, knowing the jab would add insult to injury.

Predictable as ever, Murphy's face reddened. "Elder brother, my arse!" He declared, grabbing another handful of casings and unloading in Connor's direction.

Connor grabbed his coat just in time and held it in front of his face, laughing. "Too slow, little brother, too slow."

Trying a different tactic, Murphy said. "Let's go see Cillian and get some new hardware. Then we'll see who's losin' their fuckin' touch."

"We're not wastin' any fuckin' money on guns we don't need just because yer aim is going to shite and yer ego is a bit bruised. We already depleted the saving for this little trip of yours." Connor snapped, turning away from his twin to hide his smile. It was going to take all of his will-power not to give Murphy his birthday gift early, especially after this escapade.

Stuffing his gun into the black duffle bag at his feet, he could hear Murphy grumbling under his breath. Connor caught a few phrases including "fuckin' tightwad", "piece o' shite gun", and "only wishes I was losin' my touch". Connor knew Murphy would spend the next few days blaming his weapon for the misplaced shot and he intended to enjoy every moment spent denying his brother the chance to get a new one.

It would only make the expression on Murphy's face that much sweeter when he finally got his birthday present.

-- - --

Vic's tongue flicked out and found a drop of blood that was not his own clinging to his lip. Smiling at the coppery taste, he pulled back his fist and let it slam into the man's face again, pleased at the way the flesh below the man's eye parted so easily under his knuckles.

As rivulets of crimson began to snake their way down the man's face, Vic heard the tinkling of breaking glass on the other side of the door and knew his partner was playing the hard ass, tormenting the family of their hapless victim.

Through swollen lips, the A.D.A. gasped out a plea. "Don't let him hurt my wife or my kids. I'll have the money by Friday."

Vic gave a low chuckle. "Oh, Mr. Profelli is no longer interested in your money. He's willing to let that slide."

The man's eyes widened, fear edging out the desperation that had been so visible a moment before. "Wha-what does he want?"

"You are heading up an investigation of an associate of Mr. Profelli's, an Umberto Fiore." Vic said, his voice was soft but the malice in it was palpable. "That investigation is about to stall. No Grand Jury will be convened. Lack of evidence. A brick wall. Any pending charges will be dismissed and any pertinent files will be lost. Am I understood?"

The broken man before him gave a feeble protest. "I can't just make it go away! There are at least eight clerks working-."

His words were cut off as Vic backhanded him across the face, sending an arc of blood from the man's nose splattering onto the wall. Vic repeated his question. "Am I understood?"

Vic was gratified when the man's chin dropped to his chest, bobbing with a slight nod.

"Very good. I'll convey your intentions to Mr. Profelli." Vic gestured towards the door, beyond which a woman's voice could be heard attempting to soothe a crying child. "As long as you take care of our friends, we won't have to take care of your family."


End file.
